


Go

by craftingkatie



Series: Phosphorescent Blues [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Panic Attack Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingkatie/pseuds/craftingkatie
Summary: There's been a Darkness brewing in Clint since the Incident. He focuses on his love for Darcy and Natasha, but sometimes love isn't enough.Sometimes, love is taking a step back to keep Darcy safe.





	1. For all the restless hours and empty afternoons

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the 4th in a series of stories based on Glen Phillips' album "Swallowed by the New" and the 2nd in a series that focuses on Clint and Darcy and Natasha.
> 
> It's based on the song "Go." At live shows, Glen introduces this song by talking about Lighthouse-style love. There are so many styles of love and they all have their own thing going for them. But every other type of love says I love you, come closer, be with me here.
> 
> But a lighthouse loves you from afar. It says I love you, it's no good for you here, please go. There’s only danger here and I can’t see you hurt because of me.
> 
> I love you, now go.
> 
> (If you're like me, and want a happy ending, please give this series a few months for the third installment. It will all end happily, but this is a stop along the way and there's no safe harbor here.)

Clint Barton had never used an archery range to hone his skill, thank you very much. He had used empty fields, empty tents, and empty football stadiums on a few memorable occasions. Call him particular, but he considered archery ranges as boring, predictable ways of stretching his muscles. When Tony Stark, genius, generous billionaire, and lovable asshole had invited the Avengers team to stay with him in his giant tower, he had made certain concessions to training. There had been gun ranges, gyms, tactical operations rooms, and one nondescript archery range for Clint. There hadn’t been anyone in his past who had ever gone to such trouble to cater specifically to Clint’s needs, but even with the well of gratitude beneath his breast, he couldn’t bring himself to use the empty, echoing range. 

It turns out that superheroes and super trained spies don’t take well to commercially designed training rooms. After a month passed with the rooms getting no use, Tony had closed three floors of the tower to bystanders and went to work on a secret project. Pepper entered exactly twice and came out looking shell-shocked each time. Those on the floor directly above and below the closed off floors reported rumblings from explosions and loud music at all times of the day and night. (And with the soundproofing Tony had invested in to begin with, that meant these noises were beyond the scope of Loud.)

What came from Tony’s secret project was a multi-story training simulator that loaded a multitude of different situations a superhero might come upon. The group favorite tended to be the alien invasion; they all appreciated the chance to take out their frustrations on simulated giant space whales. Clint played along when the group came together to train. He kept kill counts and competed to beat everyone’s total.

But when it came to solo training? He prefered a bird’s eye view of a crowded concert arena with multiple baddies in the mix planting bombs or something equally nefarious. It was the only time he allowed himself to acknowledge the Darkness residing in his mind. The Darkness rose up and took notice of those with dark tendencies. Like to like, it always called him towards people who were in some way evil. He could spot the bad guys and have them incapacitated in forty seconds or less. 

At first, when he had just noticed a tingling on the back of his neck in crowded streets, he had assumed it was just a leftover sensitivity from having his brain ripped out and then poured back in by Loki. However, the more he tuned into the feeling, the stronger it became. He’s not sure who made the correlation between evil people and his new sixth sense, he or Natasha, but either way it had been tested and proven effective three separate times since the Incident. Those tests did not make it into the mission reports.

He logs into a training session, picking a crowded scenario at random and swings himself up onto a convenient platform. There’s a robotic countdown and the gray walls disappear into the towering buildings of a busy street. Based on the architecture- buildings stacked on top of one another and street vendors crowding the available sidewalk- Clint thinks it must be somewhere in Mumbai, but the location doesn’t matter. 

It’s a random scenario with no clues as to what he’s facing down, so he begins scanning the faces. The tingle starts at the back of his head and he fights the rising panic, opens to the Darkness and lets it speak. Speak isn’t the best word for how it works, but it’s all that Clint’s got to describe it. There’s a buzzing like mumbling and then the knowledge is upon him.

He sees the woman in the crowd and knows there’s a gun hidden in the bundle she carries like a baby. He knows she’s scared for her son back at home but is dedicated to...something. It’s unclear; but she’s got a cause and a gun and she’s the one to watch. They’ve been working on diffusing situations diplomatically- without breaking cities, Cap had cautioned- so he swings down and makes to follow her through the crowd.

There’s a man he passes who plans on raping the woman who runs the fruit stall next to his. The Darkness takes a certain pleasure from the planned assault and Clint flinches away from the man, turning his focus back to the woman. It’s just a simulation; these people aren’t real. (Yet they’re real enough- programmed with all the intents and feelings of any given human.)

It was always there, lurking inside of him. If his mind was a hallway, Loki’s presence- his Darkness- lurked just behind every darkened doorway, behind every creepily billowing curtain, inside every dusty, cobwebbed old trunk locked under stained mattresses on rusty metal bed frames. But as he passes by the man, it rises up and takes over. The Darkness fills every crevice of his mind and it wills him to turn back towards the man.

Images of the man’s plan fill his mind; the dirty alley they both walk down at night. The dirtier mattress behind a dumpster the man noticed earlier. The list of other women this man has violated, their faces flashing in terror one after the other through Clint’s mind. The presence in his mind grows and twists, his body a pressure cooker about to blow. 

He blinks through the haze and lobs a fist into the man’s nose. The satisfying crunch spurs him on and Clint wails on the rapist, beating him down onto the ground. There’s a moment of panic, with the Darkness covering his eyes, where his motivation blurs; is the Darkness helping him target and take out evil in the world-- or is it simply jealous of the man’s plans, wanting to take the woman for itself?

His vision is red when the lights come up and the training scene fades away- taking with it the bloody and beaten body of a man. There are stats scrolling on the wall, but Clint ignores them. He’s examining his hands, the fact they are clean and unsullied bothers him. There should be some hint of the damage he had just inflicted, some proof that the rapist won’t get to carry out his plans.

“Friend Clint!” Thor’s booming voice comes from the controls and Clint tries to shake the remnants of dark from his vision.

“Thor.” He greets the man as he shelves his bow and arrows. 

“You certainly took that man down, but there was a woman in the crowd-” Clint cuts the man off with a shrug.

“I’d have gotten to her in a minute.” It feels a bit like kicking a puppy to abruptly walk away from the other man, but Clint isn’t up for a conversation. He feels Thor’s gaze on his back as he beats a hasty retreat from the room and into the elevator.

Once the sliding doors close, he realizes he doesn’t know exactly where he wants to go. He needs something, _ something _ , but he has no idea what.

His phone chimes, the three quick beeps telling him it’s Natasha. “ _ Fifteenth Floor. _ ” Clint presses the button for the 15th floor and slips his phone back in his pocket. Maybe the distraction he needs is there. 

~

On the 15th floor, he follows the scent of coffee down the hallway to stop in front of a giant window overlooking a lab space Tony had set up. Darcy and Natasha lean against the wall opposite the window, each sipping on steaming cups of coffee and each thoroughly engrossed in the goings on within the lab. His heart slides into a slower, steadier beat and he catches himself before he grips at his chest. Just the sight of Darcy and already he feels more steady in his own body.

Christ.

“Hey, Darce. Tash.” He greets as he saunters over to meet them at the window. “What are you watc....” He trails off as he realizes the show is the flurry of Science in action. Jane Foster, Tony Stark, and Bruce Banner look more cartoon than human, flitting from one side of the lab to the other. Each one points and comments on something that the others either agree or dismiss before they crisscross the lab to do it again in front of another piece of equipment. 

“They’ve debated the microscopes five times now. Speculation is the number of available machines rather than the superiority of the tech, but Jane is a pistol. She could be making disparaging remarks about Stark Tech.” Darcy informs him with a grin and bumps her shoulder against his as he leans on the wall next to her. 

Clint grabs the coffee out of Darcy’s hands and steals a quick sip.  _ Ugh _ . Mocha. “How can you even drink this?” He whines, then makes gimme hands at Natasha who hands over her cup with a small smile. “Really? You both got the same crap?”

“She’s very convincing.” Natasha shrugs and grabs her cup back, taking a smug sip. Her words are a small, private announcement for him. Natasha and Darcy have been bonding.

Tasha and Clint had an unspoken open relationship. Well, scratch that. When Natasha turned to him after sex, stretched and said “I don’t mind if you fuck others,” then rolled over to saunter naked into the bathroom, he accepted that things between them were open-ended. He loves her and he’s pretty confident that over the years she’s developed feelings for him as well. The trust is there, and with Natasha the trust was the more meaningful connection.

When he started seeing more of Darcy, Natasha had made herself scarce- her way of encouraging the relationship. 

When he confessed to Natasha that Darcy had moved into his heart in a way he hadn’t expected, she started following Darcy, learning everything she could. What she had learned had endeared Darcy to Natasha. Just as Clint had fallen for Darcy, so too was Natasha. 

Because of course his life could never be simple. 

Natasha wanted Darcy.

Clint wanted Darcy.

Darcy wanted Clint.

Could Darcy also want Natasha? Because Clint missed Tasha, wanted to share everything he knew about Darcy with someone who was equally enamoured. 

“You’ll come around to my ways.” Darcy says, breaking him out of his thoughts. She’s smiling up at him and he gives into the urge to grab her up into a kiss.

There’s the sound of a door opening and a throat clearing then Tony’s voice, dryly announcing “I’m pretty sure there’s something in the handbook about PDA.” 

“Oops.” Darcy is blushing as she pulls away. “Not a great first impression, huh boss?” 

Jane just grins. “Let’s go. We have some paperwork to look over and redline. Thank you for the tour, Tony.” Tony Stark leads Jane towards the elevator. Darcy takes a moment to mourn the fact Bruce Banner stays behind in the lab and she won’t get a chance to meet him. Yet.

“They’re on first name basis.” Darcy whispers excitedly. “She may well agree to be poached by Stark Industries. Best idea ever!” It is the best idea, really. With Darcy working in the Tower, Clint will be able to see her more often during the day. It would work out quite nicely.

Darcy presses one last kiss to his cheek then turns to wrap her arms around Natasha before heading down the hall after Dr. Foster.

Natasha is close behind him as they both watch Darcy walk away. “She still wears our bracelet.”

Our bracelet, the leather one with her nickname engraved on it. Kitten, for the way she purrs, and Clint is instantly hard remembering the last time he’d stroked that purr from her.

Christ.

~

They’ve gone for ice cream to compare notes on Stark’s set up. Jane has not been able to stop raving over the technology available so mostly Darcy sits there, licking her cone and nodding at the appropriate spots.

“The good news is we don’t have to make a decision until after I present at the conference in Toronto.” Jane finally takes a breath and scoops up her half-melted dessert.

“That’s the one about the findings on the ice crystals in Tromso?” Darcy asks.

“Right, and-” Jane cuts herself off. “And I don’t have to bore you about the findings. I only booked one room; I didn’t think you would need to come to this one.”

“Okay. Someone’s already set up to handle your AV needs?” Darcy hates bad conference AV with a passion. If you’re going to hand out microphones, you should test your damn system first. It’s not an overly complicated idea.

“Yes; I’ll have a working mic this time,” Jane smiles. “Besides, I’m sure you want to stay here and play with your spies.”

“My spies?” Darcy nearly chokes on her ice cream.

“Well, I knew you were with Clint but it’s not hard to see why you might want Natasha as well. I mean, damn.” Jane’s eyes are wide and appreciative. 

Darcy sputters for a second. “Jane!” There’s a scandalized note hanging in her friend’s name, but Darcy waves a hand in the air as if to clear it all away. “I mean, yeah, damn. The woman could kill you with her thighs. It’s frankly amazing. But.... I’m with Clint.”

“Well, yeah, but you have to have noticed Natasha making moves on you.” Jane says, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Natasha is not making moves on me; she’s just being a friend.” Darcy mimics the pose, cone tilting precariously between her hands. It really ruins the effect, but Jane is talking crazy talk.

“Who gave you the bracelet?” Jane asks, pointing.

Darcy runs a finger across the metal before answering. “Clint and Natasha.” Technically Natasha had suggested it, but....

“They both gave it to you?” Darcy nods and Jane continues. “Right, well, she has been spending more time with you. Buying you things. Flirting with you.”

“She’s his partner. She’s just being friendly.” Darcy argues.

“She’s warm for your form, friend. It’s just a question of whether she wants to share or if she’d rather keep you to herself.” Jane is nodding sagely, like she’s some magical sex therapist.

“You live in Crazy Town, Janey.” Darcy purposefully bites into her cone, going for blase but probably hitting desperate-to-end-this-conversation instead.

Jane shrugs and changes the subject back to Toronto. Darcy tries to ignore the warmth fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Natasha being interested in her. She’s with Clint. Just Clint.

Right?

~


	2. Lover your head is down your eyes are on the floor

Darcy sees a therapist on Wednesdays now. It wasn’t easy to make the first appointment, but Clint had promised to take her to dinner afterward. Now, Darcy almost demands they always meet for dinner afterward. It’s hard on her budget but eases her mind (and sometimes he pays, which is great). She reckons five times makes a habit and she grins when she sees Clint waiting for her outside of the building. 

She gives in to the urge and runs at him like they’re in the arrivals terminal at the airport. He doesn’t disappoint her, catching her up in his arms when she jumps. Those arms hold her up as she wraps her legs around his waist and leans in for a kiss. 

“Hot damn.” she breathes against his neck when they finally come up for air. “Hello.”

“Hello to you too.” He grins and palms her ass. “I like it when you climb me like a tree.”

Her eyes go a little hazy as she considers the shenanigans they could get up to, were they not in a public street. She swats his shoulder. “Put me down.”

“As you wish.” He winks and her heart flutters. She should never ( _ ever ever ever _ ) have confessed her love of that movie. He’s got a flair for being her Dread Pirate Westley. 

Clint takes up her hand and leads her off in the direction of dinner. Darcy doesn’t bother asking where they are headed. He tends to pick great places. 

They round the corner near that deli Natasha had introduced them too and her mouth starts watering. She sees Natasha waiting at the entrance and her heart speeds up.

“Figured I’d buy you that sandwich you loved so much.” Clint grins down at her as they approach the doors.

“Clint.” Natasha greets him by leaning up into his space and kissing him. It’s a brief kiss, barely a brush of lips, but intimate in a way that has Darcy dropping Clint’s hand.

Natasha turns to her, frames her face with her hands and leans in to brush her lips across Darcy’s once, twice, three times before pulling away with a light nip to her bottom lip. There's every chance for Darcy to back away, to turn her head, but she accepts the kiss- welcomes it a bit. “Darcy.” She takes up Darcy’s hand as she turns to lead the way into the restaurant. 

Clint’s hand is warm on the small of her back as they weave through the tiny tables to the booth they had claimed at their first visit.  Darcy slides into the booth and is only slightly surprised when Natasha slides in next to her rather than Clint. He sits across from them, a small smile gracing his face.

There are words in Darcy’s head. Words she should maybe say, but instead, she just looks between Clint and Natasha.

“What’s going on?” That’s a good question. Points for Darcy’s brain, pulling that one out of the fog.

“Clint asked for suggestions of where to take you for dinner and I know you enjoyed the pastrami here.” Natasha hands her a tiny paper menu and Darcy tries not to blush.

“Oh,” Darcy clings to the menu. “I uh did enjoy it. Thanks.” Natasha isn’t quite pressed to Darcy’s side, but she can feel her presence from hip to knee. She sits tense, staring blindly at the menu and then up at Clint, who studiously ignores her in favor of examining the cakes in the display case nearby. He’s relaxed, Natasha is relaxed....Darcy is tense.

She considers and dismisses the idea that the kiss was a test. 

Jane’s words flitter in the back of her thoughts. Maybe it truly is just that Natasha is warm for her form. A little flirtation could be fun and Clint didn’t seem to mind. Darcy rolls her shoulders back and puts down the menu. She had done enough mental gymnastics at her appointment. Time to relax into whatever this is, see where it leads. She’s come out crying a few times, gone home with homework that had her fighting nightmares other times.

Darcy goes boneless with a sigh, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder. “Today’s appointment was tough.” She doesn’t ever go into what happened or what was said at the appointment. It’s her own battle, but she thinks Clint can tell when she has a hard time. 

“I’m sorry,  _ kotyonok.”  _ Natasha picks up Darcy’s hand, cradling it between her own. She threads their fingers together and plays with the bracelet around Darcy’s wrist. “We’ll make sure you have a relaxing evening after your troubles.”

When their sandwiches come, Natasha lets her hand go but continues to touch her in little ways throughout the meal. She lightly runs a finger down Darcy’s neck, asking after the dangly earrings Darcy had worn. Her hand rested on Darcy’s upper thigh for a breathless four-minute period. Any one instance and Darcy would have brushed it off, or barely noticed. All combined and Darcy’s skin was sensitive, each casual brush lighting up her system and sending warmth to pool at her core.

They eat the amazing sandwiches at the deli and then as a treat, they order a dozen cookies to go. Clint wraps his arm around Darcy’s waist as Natasha allows her to snag a cookie from the bag. She munches happily as they walk towards her apartment. 

There’s a marathon of Jeopardy episodes on and the three melt comfortably into the couch. The cookies disappear quickly, thanks Clint, as Natasha blows their scores out of the water answering each and every question. Darcy turns slightly and leans against Clint’s shoulder to watch Natasha.

“Are we sure she isn’t controlling time? Like freezing us so she can go Google the answer then coming back and unpausing everything so it seems like she just magically has the answer?” Darcy comments, idly tracing patterns on Clint’s cargo pants. 

“Nah, she’s just that good. Swear she has an eidetic memory.” Clint shrugs and it knocks Darcy forward a bit. She laughs at Natasha’s raised eyebrow in response to their teasing then tries to tune back into the answers.

“Who is Adam Pascal!” Darcy yells out. Neither Clint nor Natasha have the answer and Darcy stands up to do a tiny victory dance. Yeah, she’s like more than $2000 behind them both, but she had that one and they didn’t.

When the commercial takes over the broadcast, Darcy slows her dance and sits lightly on the edge of the couch. The dancing had heightened the tension at the base of her neck and she raises a hand to rub at it. 

Clint leans forward to rub a warm hand down her spine. “You okay, kitten?”

She arches into the touch. “Yeah, I’m just a little tense. Could use a spa day, maybe get my hair done.” Darcy scratches a hand through the mess of dark hair that’s just grown more unruly since she let it out of the bun it had been in.

“That could easily be arranged.” Natasha comments and Darcy spins. Jane was never down for a full spa day, just a nail treatment or massage here and there.

“Really? Yes, please. Sign me up.” Darcy grins. “Girls’ Day Out, you and me.”

Clint’s hand paused around her waist, his fingers digging in to tickle. “Rude; I’m not invited?”

Darcy squeaks and shifts closer to Natasha to slap at Clint’s arm. “Well, when you act like that, why on earth would I want you to ruin a relaxing day?” She’s distracted by the feeling of fingers running through her hair, gently pulling strands with the motion. Her hand freezes for balance on Clint’s arm as she closes her eyes into the simple pleasure.

“I can’t make spa day happen right now, but I could certainly braid your hair. Might help you relax.” Natasha offers.

“Yes. I will love you forever, just don’t stop. That’s amazing.” Darcy is going to be a puddle of contented happiness. Natasha shifts, almost imperceptibly, and there are now two hands in her hair as fingernails scratch gently against her scalp. The moan caught deep in her throat is definitely a purr and Darcy can’t even pretend to be embarrassed; can’t be bothered to open her eyes and risk losing the sensations tracing thrills down her spine. 

Her nails dig into Clint’s arm and he sucks in a breath. “Clint, go get her hairbrush and a hairband,” Natasha says. 

Clint grasps the hand still clinging to his arm and presses a kiss to it. “Yes, ma’am.” And then his weight moves off the couch.

A second later the fingers leave her hair and Darcy’s eyes shoot open. “Nooo!” She’s whining as she turns to look at Natasha, but really, don’t dangle that kind of pleasure and then take it away.

The eyebrow raises again, but this time there’s a smirk along with it. “It’s okay,  _ kotyonok.  _ If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it right.” She gestures to the ground in front of her and Darcy slides wordless to the floor in front of Natasha. Her hands return to their comforting stroking as soon as Darcy is settled.

Clint returns to the room to find Darcy on the floor, head bent forward with her forehead resting against her raised knees. Natasha has both hands threading through Darcy’s hair, stroking sure fingers through the strands. Darcy has an arm wrapped around Natasha’s leg as an anchor. 

“How did I not know you had a thing for having your hair played with?” He asks as he places the brush and hair band next to Natasha on the couch.

“Well, you knew I liked it pulled, kinda the same deal,” Darcy answers, her eyes still closed. “Now, shhhh... I’m meditating on how amazing this feels.” 

“Just wait until I get started,” Natasha promises and a shiver runs down Darcy’s spine.

“Can I keep her?” Darcy pops one eye open to look at Clint.

He lets out a laugh. “Sure, you can keep her but you have to share.”

“Good deal.” She turns her head back to face forward, rocks a bit to resettle herself comfortably, and closes her eye. “I’m ready.”

Natasha is frozen, looking at Darcy with the wonder Clint is sure must be written on his face most days he’s with Darcy. She really is something else; something he craves. Something Natasha may need in her life.

Natasha breaks her trance and reaches for the brush. It takes thirty minutes for Natasha to braid her hair into a tight french braid, though Clint assumes she stretches it out for Darcy’s pleasure. When she finally wraps the band around the braided tail, Darcy is yawning and leaning her head against Natasha’s knee. 

Clint reluctantly stands up when he hears Darcy’s breath start to even out.

“Darce?” He crouches in front of her as Natasha rubs at her shoulders. “Darce, let’s get you to bed.” He pulls her to stand up then gives in to the urge to have her close and scoops her up into his arms.

He carries her back to her bed, Natasha following behind. He props Darcy up while she kicks off her shoes and pulls her pants off. 

When she’s under the covers he presses a quick kiss to her forehead and turns to leave, only to be stopped by her hand on his arm. “Stay.” It’s a whisper and her eyes are half closed, but it’s a plea to not be alone.

Clint turns to catch pain flicker across Natasha’s eyes at the perceived rejection before she turns to leave and Clint’s decision is made for him. “Sure thing, kitten. I can stay.”

~

It isn’t until the morning, after Darcy has stumbled her way into the bathroom and is admiring how relatively little hair has escaped from her braid, that she wonders where Natasha slept last night. She walks past the couch to verify it had not been made up as a faux bed on her way to make coffee. Clint is still very much asleep in her bed and Natasha hadn’t been in the bedroom. 

She shoots her a quick text as she makes a cup of coffee.

_ Sorry I fell asleep on you.  _

_ You’ve got magic hands. _

She catches herself puttering around the kitchen, waiting for a reply and forces herself to go back to the bedroom and get dressed. There isn’t time in her schedule to spend staring at her phone and waiting for a reply. Clint is rummaging through the bottom drawer of her dresser when she enters the room. He triumphantly pulls out one of his larger, softer shirts she had stolen a few weeks before.

“Dude. It’s mine now. I even washed it.” Darcy complains.

“Too late.” He slips it over his head. “It’s on my body now. Do you think Jane would mind if I made you breakfast?”

“I mean, I’m sure she will forgive me if you make your pancakes.” Darcy refrains from jumping up and down and clapping. Mostly. 

While Clint hustles out to the kitchen, Darcy shoots a quick text to Jane to let her know she's running behind this morning. Apparently, running behind is a euphemism for sex in Jane’s book, which really Darcy should have expected but she has to deal with three minutes of textual ribbing before she can comfortably put the phone down and head out to the kitchen.

He has found her floral apron and is mixing batter together. It’s perfect. She snaps a mental picture and climbs onto one of the stools to watch him work. He’s laid out a place setting for her on the counter. 

There are questions, comments, concerns hovering at the forefront of her brain. Darcy worries at the bracelet she has taken off only to shower since receiving. It was her talisman, her security blanket in New Mexico. After, it reminds her of the warm glow Clint brings to her life and of Natasha’s smile when she bought it for Darcy. Her two favorite spy-ssasins; her two favorite people in the world save Janey.

She can’t pretend like Natasha isn’t trying to challenge the status quo of their relationship with the flirting and the touching and the.... _ whoo boy _ . Darcy takes a deep breath and puts her clasped hands on the counter to stop from fidgeting.

“So,” She starts and Clint looks up. “About Natasha.”

He tilts his head as he considers her. “Okay, what about Natasha?” Damn him, he’s playing clueless and a part of her wants to call him on it. But that would just be to avoid the awkwardness of putting it out in the open.

“She’s your partner.” Darcy states. Though it’s not a question, Clint nods as he flips a pancake. “Has she ever been more than your partner?”

He puts the spatula down and meets her gaze, steady. “Yes.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” The leather on the bracelet is soft. She worries that after this conversation she will have to take it off. She worries this is where things will change between them.

Clint blinks, but to his credit, his gaze never wavers. “We’ve been in an open relationship since...well, since shortly after we became partners. She’s been my rock for many years.” Darcy feels her shoulders stiffening as she draws in on herself. She shouldn’t have asked. His hand covers hers, stilling the fingers twisting in the bracelet. “Darcy, we took a step back from one another when you and I took steps towards a relationship. I wouldn’t...we wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Okay.” She breathes in through her nose, ignores the stinging of tears in the corner of her eye. “Okay. So you just...broke it off with her to be with me? Is that why she’s being so.... Weird around me?” Weird isn’t the right word but asking Clint if his one-time girlfriend wants to fuck her is a little much for her to handle. “I mean, the flirting is new. Is she going for a revenge move here? Like seducing me away from you to prove I’m not a good choice for you or something?”

Clint huffs a laugh and she jerks back her hands because fucking really? Nothing about this is amusing. It’s been a long damn week and she just wants more answers and less confusion. And maybe more orgasms, but she doesn’t need either spy-sassin for that if they’re playing some kind of sick chess game with her as a pawn.

“It’s her fucking job. You told me she prides herself on how quickly she can bring down targets with just a kiss. Like, there’s nothing funny here Clint.”

“No, no of course not, Darce. No, I wasn’t laughing at you at all.” Clint moves the pan off the burner, the poor pancake is smoking and the acrid smell is doing nothing for Darcy’s stomach. “It’s just....Natasha told me you would jump to that conclusion and I didn’t really believe her. I guess I forget that she is the Black Widow sometimes.”

He comes around the counter and twists her stool so they are facing one another, no buffer between them save her knees. “It’s not fully my story to tell, but Darce, she genuinely likes you. I think it started out as a simple vetting, to make sure that you were good enough for me or that I was good enough for you. That we matched. That she wouldn’t be left cleaning up the pieces of my broken heart when this didn’t go well.” He grimaces. “But, Darcy, you’re amazing. It’s no fucking surprise she fell for you. She, uh, asked if I would mind if she flirted with you.”

“And you....” Darcy can words. Sure she can. “You don’t mind?”

“Fuck no.” Clint breathes out.

“But I’m with you.”

“Yup.” He squeezes her hands.

“You don’t seem too put out by all this.”

“Nope.”

“Are you....does this turn you on?”

Clint smiles, but it’s tentative and gentle. “I mean, I would love to swing you over my shoulder caveman style and never let you out of the bedroom, but... the picture of two women I love being together? It’s not bad at all in my book.”

_ He loves her _ . Darcy’s thoughts are running around in circles.  _ He loves you _ .

“What if I accept her flirting and we run off together without you?” She raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Like you could leave all this behind.” Clint waves an arm up and down to encompass his body and Darcy has to roll her eyes. 

“Sure thing, HotArms.” She shifts in her seat and Clint steps closer, pushing her knees ‘til they part and he can wrap his arms around her.

“Is this where you run away from my weird life screaming into the night?” Clint asks into her hair.

“Nah, this is where I ask my hot lover to continue making me pancakes so I can make it through all the mulling that’s going to happen over this conversation.” Clint kisses her nose before stepping back to head back to his pancake station.

“Yes ma’am. Any special shape requests?” He’s been toying with making shaped pancakes, but has mostly just managed lopsided hearts and Mickey Mouse ears.

“Nope. Just many mini pancakes on my plate.” Darcy requests with a smile. It’s easy to sink into the simple joy of having him here. Easy to pretend there isn’t a shit ton of emotion that just got laid out on the floor of her kitchen. He serves her up five sand dollar sized pancakes then works on filling his own plate. She butters each one and dribbles the perfect amount of syrup over her plate and waits patiently for him to put his batter bowl in the sink and join her at the counter.

When he’s sitting next to her, not in her line of sight but close enough she can feel the heat from his skin, she forks up a bite of pancake and definitely doesn’t moan out loud. Sweet fluffy goodness. 

There’s the silence that only happens for breakfast foods; a reverence saved for syrup and butter and warm fluffy half stacks. And in that silence, she begins her mulling. Darcy tries to simply focus on eating, but her mind keeps sticking on one heavy question. 

She’s watching syrup drip from the tines of her fork when she finally decides to just continue with the hard questions. “Are we exclusive?”

Clint doesn’t turn to look at her but he doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Do you want us to be?”

“No fair answering a question with a question.” But it’s a good one. What does she want? She doesn’t want to be the reason he and Natasha fall apart. “I...I love you, like more than I expected to, but...”

“But I’m fun to play with but not that fun to keep?” He asks lightly. She turns to punch him on the arm.

“Shut up. Stop fishing for compliments.” Darcy studies his profile. “It’s just in light of everything we’ve just discussed, I don’t want to be the reason for any issues with your partner especially if you were hers first.”

“That’s not really how this works.” Clint shakes his head as he turns towards her. “We weren’t exclusive; I’m not stepping out on Natasha to be with you. It’s not like that.”

“Right, I get that. I just don’t want you to not turn to Natasha because you feel like you’d be stepping out on me.” She borrows his phrase and thinks it mostly fits the meaning she is searching for. “If we agreed to be exclusive, you would just cut her off; just like that. Because you’re that kind of man.”

“I would. If that’s what you want, Darce, I can make it work.” Clint agrees.

“It’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to you.” She pauses. “I’m not sure it would be entirely fair to me ‘cause I’m pretty sure I’d lose her in the deal as well.”

“You don’t want to lose her?” He asks.

“You seem to be a package deal. I just got used to having the both of you around and it would hurt to try and change that.” He starts to speak and she holds up a hand. “I don’t know what to do about Natasha. I’m confused and I really don’t have any answers.”

“Fair enough.” He slides out of his stool and frames her face with his hands. “I’m yours. I will not run around on you with strange women or leave you waiting for me. We can figure the details out later.”

That was not the sound of her heart melting; it was the alarm on her phone reminding her that it was still a weekday. She huffs a laugh as he presses a kiss to the top of her head and grabs their empty plates. “I’ve got to get to work now. Yay.”

“I’ll clean up here and lock up when I’m done.” Clint puts the plates in the sink then turns back to her. “Hey, Darce?”

She looks back at him from her trek to her room. 

“Did you still want us to come over tonight for the new Grey's Anatomy, or should we give you some space?” He asks, still in her pretty floral apron.

“Maybe I should have the night to myself. Just for tonight. We can catch up tomorrow night, okay? You and Natasha can bring me dinner.” She offers with a smile. 

They can do this. 

No worries. 

Just a bunch of open-ended questions.

~

Later, when she’s in the middle of some data printouts that jammed the printer and jumbled the print order beyond recognition, her phone goes off. Desperate for any reason to abandon the pile of torn and smeared pages, she dives for it to check the message. 

_ Next time you should let me try a dutch braid. _

_ I can make it last longer. _

Natasha. Magic hands. She pats a hand over her hair, now much more messed up than it had been before she was crawling inside industrial sized printers. 

Darcy doesn’t have to think much before she replies.

_ Can next time be tomorrow night?  _

Natasha volunteers to bring the vodka and Darcy reflexively smiles. 

Crap. 

“JANE!” Darcy yells from her position on the floor, halfway between her desk and the evil printer. She’s surrounded by paper and covered in powdered, smeared black ink and suddenly sure she’s going to hyperventilate or cry. “JANE!” 

The second cry brings Jane around the corner with a concerned frown on her face. “Darcy? Did the printer explode?”

“What? No... I just...Emergency protocol number 5, Jane. I need you.” Darcy hauls herself off the floor and rummages for her purse.

“Number...5...but that’s aliens bubbling up from the ground and eating all the record players?” Jane scratches at her hair and dislodges the two pens that had been holding it up. 

“Noooo, that’s number 3. Number 5 is I’ve got two super spies who want to jump my bones and I need to talk it out.” Darcy grabs Jane’s arm and leads her to the door, sweeping up Jane’s purse on the way out. “I need tacos and advice.”

Number 5 was actually the code for ‘ _ please be my lesbian lover and save me from this douchebro who won’t leave me alone _ ,’ but it seemed to be an almost poetic fit.

“So what exactly is happening with your super spies?” Jane asks as they catch the elevator to the lobby.

“Not in public, Jane.” Darcy hisses, though they are alone. “This is a cone of silence confession. This requires an afghan cocoon.”

Jane nods serenely. “Of course. I understand. Tacos to go and then back to my place.” Darcy wraps her arm around Jane in a quick sideways hug before the doors open.

~


	3. I’m still dreaming of your eyes, your mouth, your touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Darcy have some alone time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you make it past 30 years-old still in possession of your V-card, you get two gifts:  
> 1\. The right to light the Black Flame Candle.  
> 2\. A never-ending awkwardness when writing sex scenes.
> 
> I've tried to overcome my fears in this chapter with the buildup and the next chapter with the fun times, but I know they are nowhere near as explicit as others I've read and enjoyed.

They ordered far too many tacos and enough salsa to drown the world. Thank Thor lunch had been a granola bar at noon. They’re hungry enough to tackle the tacos. Darcy carried the boxes into Jane’s living room and plopped down on the couch. Jane went to grab a few beers from the fridge and came back to find Darcy sitting cross legged on the couch, staring at the food.

“Okay, talk first then we eat.” Jane announces, making Darcy jump. She pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and swirled it around Darcy’s shoulder. 

“I love Clint.” Darcy says, turning to focus her gaze on Jane as she joins her on the couch.

“Right,” Jane nods. “Figured that bit out. Heart eyes and all the dates, et cetera.”

“He’s in an open relationship with Natasha.” Jane starts to respond, but Darcy holds up a hand, “and Natasha asked him for permission to flirt with me.”

“Oh?” Jane’s eyebrows rise almost to her hairline.

“He’s fine with it. Turns out they’re both warm for my form, Jane.” Darcy throws her hands up in the air and dislodges her blanket cocoon. “Both of them. At the same time.”

“Sounds like way more fun than just Clint.” Jane says.

Darcy sputters. “That’s it....those are your wise words for me?”

“Darce,” Jane scoots forward and grabs her hands. “You are amazing. You deserve all the love this world can squeeze out for you. It just happens to have squeezed out two super hot spies who want to take you to Orgasm Town. They both want you and they are aware of the other’s want of you. No secrets. I’m...I’m not seeing the bad here.”

“It’s unconventional.” Darcy’s balloon is deflated in the face of Jane’s calm assessment. 

“I have dates with an alien god who has a magic hammer. There’s not really much conventional about our lives, so why quibble over that one thing.” Jane shrugs. “You have a right to your feelings and I know it must be at least somewhat intimidating to find all that hottness aimed at you- but Darcy, if you want this, then go for it.”

Darcy throws the blanket over her head and muffles a frustrated groan. “That’s the problem. I want them both so bad. I’m a .... I’m a slut.”

“Okay, so own it. Go out there and be slutty. Get some, Darce. Get all of it.” Jane reaches for a takeout box. “Just don’t tell me the details, okay? If I accept Stark’s offer, I may have to work with them and I don’t need to know what lurks beneath their clothes. I already know far too much.”

Darcy stills under her blanket hood and realizes that Jane has competently shut down every objection she had to pursuing both Natasha and Clint. She feels her skin flush as she imagines the possibilities, the beautiful possibilities. 

“Jane, I need you to change the subject.” She chokes out. “I won’t be able to breathe if I travel down the imagination lane you just opened up for me.”

Janes laughs but then a takeout container is shoved into Darcy’s blanket cocoon. “Let’s focus on tacos, shall we?” Darcy pulls the blanket off of her face and joins Jane in munching through the huge order of tacos. 

When they have each eaten their fill, there are still six tacos left. “We may have ordered too much.” Darcy groans as she leans back against the sofa. 

“Crisis ordering. Oops.” Jane is in stretchy pants and content. Darcy is in jeans and regrets the last two tacos. “You take them and go home.”

“Jane, it’s the middle of the day and I left a huge mess at the printer.” Darcy argues, but she stands up to gather the leftovers together.

“It’ll keep. You’ve still got fear around your eyes. You need to take the afternoon off. I think I’ll do the same after I check in on the equipment.” Jane grins. “There are benefits to being best friends with your boss. Just go home. And call me if you need me to come over tonight.”

“Will do.” Darcy wraps Jane in a hug. “Thanks for being awesome.”

~

She walks home, regrets it but does it anyway. There’s a group of neighbors by the mailboxes, so Darcy stops to say hello and grab her own mail. They warn her of a possible roach infestation on the sixth floor. Oh, the joys of apartment living! There’s a discussion of appropriate methods of extermination and a promise of a slew of reports of sightings to the landlord, who is notoriously stingy when it comes to hiring exterminators. 

The tacos go into the fridge and she shucks her jeans off on the way back to the bedroom. Clint had made the bed before leaving and she almost gives into the temptation to nap. Instead, she crosses to her dresser looking for any clean stretchy pants. She winds up with a knit dress to replace her constricting pants, as her stretchy pants are all in her overflowing laundry hamper.

She stands in her kitchen googling the methods her neighbors had mentioned, makes a list of purchases she will make with her next paycheck. That leads her to checking her budget sheet and discovering she had extra money in her crafting budget. That leads to her perusing a few crafting blogs in search of a potential new thing to try. 

There’s only so much surfing she can do before her eyes cross and her mind craves some sort of movement. Darcy contemplates doing a load of laundry or reorganizing her spice cabinet; anything to keep her body busy. She reckons the couch must have reached up and tripped her, because somehow she winds up curled against the armrest, staring out into space considering her weird luck.

Her phone goes off against her thigh and it’s Jane.

_ You deserve all the love.  _

_ Go get it!  _

_ Stop overanalyzing. _

_ Might have permanently broken the printer; accepting the job with Stark before they figure out it was me. _

Darcy shakes her head and imagines the mess she will have to clean up tomorrow. So much for Jane taking an early day. It’s already 6pm and Jane is still there futzing with the machines.

_ Thanks boss. _

_ Back away from the printer. I’ll fix it tomorrow. _

_ Go home! _

Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she sends a message to Natasha.

_ I’ve got more tacos than I can eat. Help? _

Darcy fidgets with the hem of her dress, tightens and then loosens the bracelet around her wrist, examines the end of her braid for split ends.

Finally, a reply comes through. 

_ Clint can put away more tacos than the both of us combined. _

It’s a bit standoffish, but Darcy isn’t deterred. 

_ I don’t have Clint amounts of tacos. I’ve got Darcy and Natasha amounts of tacos. _

Natasha is waiting by her phone; the response comes much faster this time.

_ Is a spa night an appropriate activity with tacos? _

 

_ YASSSS :) _

 

_ I’ll be there in thirty minutes.  _

 

Darcy uses the half hour to quickly clean her bathroom and kitchen. She’s not sure what Natasha will bring for a spa night, but it will definitely involve a sink. A stack of her fluffiest towels come out to sit, folded neatly, on the corner of the bathroom sink. Like a lady.

Catching a quick glance at her reflection, she grimaces. Full makeup would be too much and too big a giveaway as to her nerves. There’s no taming the flyaways from her braid and she considers taking it out to pull it up and smooth it out- but Natasha braided it and it seems wrong to dismantle it right before she arrives. She swipes on a layer of lip gloss, considers putting on her Confidence Heels, but winds up nervous and barefoot in her living room waiting for Natasha. 

When Natasha knocks, Darcy jumps in her seat and tries to calm her breathing as she approaches the door. Just two friends hanging out. No pressure. You can do this.

“Hey!” Darcy greets as she swings open the door. “I haven’t heated up the tacos yet; figured it would be best to wait and make sure you were hungry. And we could always have margaritas with our tacos...”

She trails off as Natasha steps in the apartment, reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and presses a sweet kiss to her lips. “That sounds perfect. You heat up the tacos and I will make the margaritas.” Natasha slips around Darcy and detours to the couch to drop a weekender bag on the coffee table. 

Darcy resists the urge to put fingertips on her lips as she turns and slowly makes her way to the kitchen. Natasha is wearing tight black pants and a blouse that looks like it laces up the back. It’s form fitting and just as intimidating as any catsuit could possibly be. She seems to know exactly where everything in Darcy’s kitchen is, pulling out a pitcher and tequila and somehow actual facts limes. Where had those even come from? Darcy pulls out the takeout container and heats up the oven, preferring the crisp of the broiler over the mush of the microwave. 

The tacos go on a tray to wait for the preheating and Darcy hops up on the counter to watch Natasha while munching on chips and salsa. Natasha makes her own simple syrup to add to the margarita fixins. This is possibly the fanciest drink she will have ever had in her own apartment. She usually just grabs the bottle of mix under her sink and dumps equal parts tequila in with it. 

Her salsa is running low and she’s considering hopping down and interrupting Natasha’s flow to grab more out of the fridge. Natasha squashes that idea when she comes over with a plate of salt, two glasses, and a wedge of lime.

“Can you salt the rims for me?” Natasha asks. Darcy reaches out and takes the items, putting the plate of salt in her lap and the two glasses to the side on the counter. As she carefully salts each rim, Natasha stirs all of the ingredients together in the pitcher. Natasha retrieves a glass from Darcy and fills it with ice before filling it almost to the brim with the mix.

She turns back to Darcy as she takes a long pull of the drink, her eyes closing as she tastes the mix. It must be good, if Natasha’s face is any indicator. 

Natasha crosses the short distance between them, glass in hand. “You should taste this.” Darcy’s eyes track the glass but miss the gleam in Natasha’s eye. It isn’t until Natasha has settled between her legs, the glass set aside, that Darcy notices.

By then it’s too late. Lips lightly sweetened with lime and tequila meet hers. There’s one hand on her waist, one at the nape of her neck, and a tongue licking softly at her lips until she sighs and opens to it. The sweet taste of margarita and bite of salt floods her senses and she rests her hands on Natasha’s shoulders, hands balling in the fabric there. 

The hand at the nape of her neck catches a few of the hairs there and tugs gently, igniting thrills that tingle across her scalp and across her shoulders. The tug releases and the shiver travels down the base of her spine. Every nerve is afire and it’s just a kiss.

It’s too much. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands or how to categorize the many things attacking her senses. Darcy leans back with a gasp, pushing gently at Natasha’s shoulders.

Natasha is across the room before Darcy can catch her breath. “I’m sorry. I crossed the line.” 

“I’m just...This is new for me. I need a minute.” Darcy gestures to the pitcher. “Can you take the pitcher and glasses to the living room? I’ll pop the tacos in.” And have a moment to breathe without you there looking like you want to devour me.

Natasha disappears around the counter with the margarita pitcher and glasses. If Darcy turns her head, she can see her in the living room, setting them out on the coffee table. Damned open plan apartments. Thankfully, Natasha sits on the couch, her back to Darcy. 

As the tacos heat, Darcy grabs two plates and a bunch of napkins she stole from a takeout place down the street. Three tacos go on each plate with a container of salsa. She can’t stall anymore.

Natasha stands up when she rounds the couch to grab her plate from Darcy. They sit together on the couch, one cushion between them but it might as well be a mile.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Darcy says into her plate. She feels brittle and awkward and just a bit like this is where she fucks everything up.

“You won’t.” When Darcy glances up, Natasha has set her plate aside and is staring at her confidently.

“Even if I don’t know how to be a part of what you and Clint have?”

“You’re already a part of what Clint and I have. We’re testing to see if we can take it one step further, bring all of us closer, but it’s not necessary. I will back down if you are uncomfortable.” Natasha offers.

“I’m uncomfortable but it’s not because I want you to stop.” She shrugs and accepts the blush that flushes her cheeks and chest.

Natasha grins speculatively. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

“No! I mean Janey and I have kissed like twice to make assholes back off in bars and Janey’s hella hot but just look at you. I don’t even know what to do with myself here. You’re so much and you’re important to him and I just know I’m gonna fuck this all up.” Darcy clasps a hand over her mouth to stop the tumble of words. 

“You couldn’t if you tried.” Natasha reaches out and grasps her free hand. “Clint told me you were amazing and you are. I’m just asking for a chance to show you that I agree with him.”

“But Clint...” Darcy starts.

“Isn’t here. Would you feel more comfortable if he were,  _ kotyonok _ ?” Natasha asks, rubbing a soothing circle on the back of Darcy’s hand.

Darcy shakes her head. “No. Yes. Maybe?” Her plate of tacos is still balancing in her lap. “We should eat before they get cold.” She needs time. Taco time will help.

“Okay.” Darcy takes her hand back and puts the television on a food channel to keep them company as they eat. Natasha manages to eat each taco without leaving a speck of mess behind. Darcy’s plate is an explosion of cheese shreds and salsa glops. The slow burn of the salsa has her mouth tingling and she is pleasantly stuffed rather than full to bursting. 

She’s gone through a glass of Amazing Margarita and pours herself another when Natasha volunteers to take the plates to the kitchen sink. Natasha has nursed one while eating and has barely finished half a glass.

“I made it strong.” Natasha cautions as she rounds the couch.

“I know; it’s perfect.” Darcy smiles at her before taking another sip. “Can it be spa time now?”

“Yes.” Natasha meets her smile with one of her own. She picks up a bag from beside the couch. “We should set up in your bedroom, I think. I’ve brought the works.”

Darcy leads the way through to her bedroom and flips on the bedside lamps. She’s glad she thought to make the bed and contain all of the dirty laundry. Natasha moves to the bed and begins to remove packages. She places them in a line on the nightstand, fluffs the pillows to sit up against the headboard and turns to face Darcy.

“First we wash.” She leads the way to the bathroom carrying a facial wash and an exfoliating hand scrub. She slips off her earrings and puts them in a cute catchall that’s probably meant for soap, but instead holds her jewelry when she forgets to take it off before showers. She’s fiddling with the leather of her bracelet when Natasha stops her with a light hand. Natasha positions it higher on Darcy’s wrist and tightens it so that it won’t move. “Please keep it on.” Darcy nods, feeling its presence and wondering at what meaning Natasha has attached to the bracelet Darcy has come to love. Darcy unfolds her two softest washcloths and they take turns washing their faces and hands in the bathroom sink.

~ 

“Oh my word, my hands are so soft.” Darcy barely resists the urge to shove them at Natasha and demand she feel, feel how soft they were. As it is, she rubs them up and down her own cheek, marveling. Maybe she should do this whole exfoliating thing more often.

“I can leave the exfoliant here. It’s a nice treat.” Natasha leads the way to the bed. “Lay down.”

Darcy stops in her tracks and stares at Natasha. “What?” Maybe she's more drunk that she had previously considered. 

“This will be as genuine a spa experience as I can manage. I will apply your mask and you will apply mine.” Natasha smiles. “You first.”

Darcy tries gracefully to climb onto her bed and prop herself up on the pillows. She winds up partially inclined, her dress rucked up. Natasha begins immediately, cautioning her to close her eyes before putting a cooling gel pad over each eye. 

Her breath catches as she feels fingers tickle along the edge of her dress hem, high up on her thigh. “You’re so tense,  _ kotyonok.  _ I can fix that for you.” The hem moves steadily upwards and Darcy is at war with herself. “I can make it so good for you if you let me.” 

Darcy reaches down and catches the hand traveling up her thigh. “No, thank you. I’m not...I’m not ready.” She squeezes Natasha’s fingers and considers removing the gel pads so that she can make eye contact. Her fingers are caught up and lips brush across them gently.

“Of course.” Natasha lays her hand back down, placing it gently across her stomach. “At first this mask will be cold, but then it will warm up.” A weight joins her on the bed near her head. Natasha smooths flyaway hair back from Darcy’s face, the touch light and comforting. A thumb brushes across her cheekbone before a dollop of cold cream spreads across her forehead. The smooth strokes, light touches all over her face spread the mask and gently rub away her tense lines. 

The hands drift away but the weight remains next to her as the mask warms and then tightens. Natasha shifts to grab something else off the table. It's something floral and it smells heavenly. Natasha squeezes some out of her hands then picks up one of Darcy’s. She repositions Darcy’s bracelet high on her wrist and begins a slow hand massage with the sweet smelling lotion. It's been years since she's had a hand massage. The firm pressure from Natasha's strong fingers has her sighing out and melting into the pillow. When both hands are done, Natasha leaves her for the bathroom. She stays still, not wanting to smear any of the mask's goop on her pillow if it isn't quite dry yet.

“The washcloth is warm but it shouldn't be too hot. I'm going to lay it over your face now to loosen up the mask. Let me know if it's too hot.” the warmth suddenly encompasses Darcy's face. She is content to soak in the heat until Natasha lifts the cloth. “it's time to rinse,”

Natasha holds the cloth and accepts the eye pads Darcy peals from her face. Darcy grabs the washcloth back and heads for the bathroom to rinse her face off. 

When she returns, skin dewy and smooth, Natasha is laying on her bed with her eyes covered in the cooling gel pads. Darcy comes up next to her bed and takes the chance to examine Natasha without the woman also looking at her. Her hair, red and frankly beautiful, is fanned out in a halo on the pillow. So artfully arranged that Darcy scowls briefly. Not fair, but she wants to touch. Darcy clasps her hands in front of her to fight the urge and nervously considers the pots and containers on the nightstand. 

“You can touch me. It’s allowed and even encouraged.” Natasha’s comment breaks through her daydreaming and Darcy smiles sheepishly. Natasha’s eyes are covered and her face is completely relaxed.

“Momma always said to not touch works of art.” Darcy shrugs and bites her lip, but she trails the back of her fingers up Natasha’s arm to her shoulder. She sweeps a lock of red hair off of the woman’s forehead, considers the serene face before her. A thought drifts across her mind and she nearly disregards it, except...

The gel pads are still on Natasha’s eyes and with the confidence that her scramble won’t be witnessed, Darcy grabs the pot of mask and clamors up on to the bed. She hikes up the skirt of her dress in one hand and carefully straddles Natasha’s prone form. As she settles on her knees, Natasha’s hands come up to grip her hips. They pull at her until she settles her weight across Natasha’s hips. Her core settles directly on top of the button to Natasha’s pants and it’s the simplest thing, but it sends a shock of lust straight through her. 

“Um...” Darcy breathes in deep before continuing. “I’m not going to be good at this, but I’ll try to make sure I avoid getting it in your hair.” 

“Thank you,” Natasha says. When Darcy unscrews the lid for the mask and shifts forward, Natasha’s fingers dig into her hips in a pleasant pressure. It’s intimate in a way Darcy hadn’t anticipated, smoothing the cool mask across Natasha’ features. She spends more time than is probably necessary stroking her fingers across her cheekbones to make sure the mask is evenly applied and smooth. 

Natasha’s fingers have slipped down so that they are more firmly cupping her ass and Darcy fights the urge to squirm. There’s no more excuse to keep touching Natasha. The mask has started to dry. There’s a hum of regret in her blood at the thought of moving. She closes the pot and moves to shift her legs from around Natasha, however, Natasha’s firm hands stay her movement.

“Wait, you’ve forgotten my hands,  _ kotyonok _ .” Natasha wiggles her fingers against Darcy’s ass and no, no she has not forgotten her hands. How could she? And how could she be so turned on when their clothes were still on?

Darcy leans forward to grab the lotion bottle from the bedside table, nearly laying full across Natasha in the process. She savors the slow swipe of their bodies as she sits back up on her haunches. Natasha slowly removes her hands from Darcy and lays them flat, her forearms brushing the length of Darcy’s upper thigh and her hands resting at the juncture of her hips. If she swiped her thumbs just slightly inwards she would brush against the wet spot that has been growing on Darcy’s panties. 

There is a deep breath and a giant effort to pretend she is unaffected as she picks up one of Natasha’s hands. She spreads a dollop of lotion up the hand and then back down before concentrating on massaging each joint, each tendon, following the delicate bones back to her wrist. Her focus is so completely on cataloging each vein and muscle, that she allows her massage to carry her hands higher up Natasha’s forearm. It isn’t until she brushes her hand across the smooth skin of Natasha’s upper arm that she reels herself in. 

“I can feel each muscle in your arm,” Darcy comments as she pulls her fingers down the hand and finally lays it against her thigh.

“Is that unpleasant?” Natasha questions.

“It’s intimidating and wonderful.” Darcy hums as she picks up the remaining hand and begins to spread the lotion. “I can feel how strong you are with just a touch.”

“We could work on toning your arms.” Natasha offers, and though her face doesn’t move Darcy senses caution in her tone, as though she’s anticipating rejection. “If that’s something you wanted.”

Darcy is careful to keep her hands moving at the same pace as she considers the offer. Working out is at the bottom of her list, but working out with Natasha...maybe even with Clint... The chance to see their bodies move and muscles ripple and ....

“That could be fun.” She doesn’t gulp, but she swallows hard, images of her half naked spy-sassins dancing across her imagination. “Maybe we should try that.”

Darcy finishes the hand she is currently working on and lays it gently down. She rubs her hands together, distributing any leftover lotion over her palms. Natasha stretches her hands against Darcy’s thigh then shifts to sit up, pulling the eye pads off. Darcy sits up on her knees to allow her room to move.

“Thank you,” Natasha says again, laying a hand on Darcy’s cheek. Darcy’s cheeks pink because the beautiful woman is covered in a graying clay mask and is still stunning. She covers the blush, she hopes, by moving off of Natasha and standing beside the bed. 

“Should I grab you a washcloth?” Darcy makes to (run away) head to the bathroom.

“No, I’ll take care of it.” Natasha shifts and smoothly stands up next to Darcy. She reaches out to tug a strand of hair that has shifted from her braid. “You should take your hair down. I want you to shower; I have a hair oil that will transform your hair.”

“Will I finally be a hot blonde?” Darcy jokes.

“No. You will be the same beautiful Darcy, just with more volume and shine to your hair.” Natasha turns to head to the bathroom before the compliment can fully wash over Darcy. She sits hard on the bed and pulls off the hairband.

Darcy is still running her hands through her hair, pulling out the tight braid when Natasha returns from washing her face clear of the mask. She perches beside her, one knee on the bed, and helps Darcy shake out the last of the braid, running her fingers through the strands before pronouncing them done. “Go shower. And change into pajamas. It’s getting late and you might as well be comfortable.”

She makes a detour to her dresser to pull out the nicest actual matching set of pajamas she owns before heading into the bathroom. Darcy showers quickly, running a razor over her legs in a quick attempt at appearing more put together. Her pajamas are short black capris with light blue stripes and a light blue tank top. She doesn’t wear a bra to sleep and she had forgotten clean panties in her rush to retreat to the bathroom. She double checks that her pajamas cover everything essential and decides it will have to be her own dirty secret. Her pajamas are cute and comfortable and Darcy pronounces herself good enough before leaving the bathroom.

Natasha has changed into knit pants and a knit henley two sizes larger than she needs, but it hangs gracefully from her frame. Dammit. She is standing in front of the tiny table Darcy had fashioned into a vanity; an antique mirror hung on the wall in front of it. Unfortunately, she rarely uses the thing, so it’s surface was covered in half empty perfume bottles and a stack of paystubs from the last year. There had been a grand plan to use it as a makeup station, but she had never gotten around to classing it up; instead her makeup lay haphazard in a drawer in the bathroom.

“Please sit.” Natasha gestures to the stool usually hidden beneath the table. When Darcy sits upon it, Natasha runs a hand through her hair, shaking it out and avoiding the knots that Darcy’s hair loves to form. Natasha produces a wide tooth comb and begins combing through the tangles. Each gentle tug is heaven. How long has it been since someone played with her hair? She guesses it must have been her mom or maybe an old boyfriend in high school. Being an adult meant it was harder to approach someone and ask them to play with her hair. Clint and Natasha had reawakened the simple joy for her.

She sighed when the comb left her hair and moved to stand up. “Wait,” Natasha admonishes. “I didn’t say we were done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Darcy snarks with a smile. Natasha’s eyes go dark and a thrill centers in Darcy’s stomach in anticipation of some response, but instead Natasha reaches for a tiny bottle of hair oil. She rubs the oil between her palms, then runs fingers through the detangled tresses. The tugs are long and lingering now and Darcy closes her eyes, tucks her chin to her chest, and gives in to the relaxing sensation. 

When she comes back to reality, she realizes that Natasha must have stopped her ministrations without Darcy noticing it. She is leaning back against Natasha, her eyes still closed and Natasha has rested her hands on her shoulders. 

Darcy stiffens and sits up. “Sorry,” a yawn pulls itself from her and she covers it with her arm. “Oh, sorry.”

Natasha smiles. “It’s a compliment, I think. The best part of a spa day is taking the relaxation and having an early night. You should lay down,  _ kotyonok”  _

“Maybe I should,” Darcy agrees and shuffles over to the bed to pull down the bed covers. Natasha glides around the room, picking up all of her items and putting them back in her weekender bag. Darcy checks that her phone is on the nightstand and sits down on the bed, leaning against the pillows. Natasha is hovering over her bag at the end of the bed, reorganizing the contents. 

“Natasha?” she looks up to meet Darcy’s gaze. “Could you maybe stay with me? I...I haven’t spent a lot of nights alone since New Mexico.”

There’s an imperceptible shift in the line of Natasha’s shoulders and she puts the bag down on the floor. “Of course I can.” She climbs in on the other side, shutting off the bedside lamp and then sitting up against the headboard. Darcy gives into her urge and leans against Natasha, her head resting against her shoulder. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Darcy whispers. Her eyes are closed and she feels the weight of sleep pulling at her. 

~

She awakes, gasping and clinging to someone who had died in her arms, tears warm on her cheeks. She chokes on the air she’s gasping in, tasting tears as she struggles to breathe. 

“Darcy, you are dreaming.” there’s a hand softly stroking her hair back from her face. “ _ Kotyonok, _ can you hear me?” 

Darcy is not in the desert. She’s lying stretched out next to Natasha, her head in Natasha’s lap and her arms wrapped around her waist, clamped tightly around her as though the woman were going to disappear. Nails scratch at the nape of her neck, through her hair, and the sensation brings her more fully into the present. Her tears have left a mark on Natasha’s pants and she’s still gripping at her waist. Darcy pulls away and sits up, pulling her knees up to hide her face.

“Sorry,” God she’s sorry. “So sorry.” She’s shaking a bit. Natasha had gone up in flames in her arms, had blown away like dust as the Destroyer bared down on them. Her fault. All her fault. “Sorry”

Natasha shifts next to her and smooth, sure fingers clasp the back of her neck in a firm grip. The near pinching massage helps steady her stuttering breathing. 

“You were dreaming,” Natasha says once more when Darcy takes two whole breaths without struggling.

“Nightmare.” Darcy breathes out and straightens. Natasha’s hand falls to rest at the small of her back. “I’m supposed to write it down; what I dreamed. For the therapist.” She tilts, dangerously off balance, but manages to pull the notebook from her nightstand drawer.

She flips to the 8th page. 7 dreams she’s had since starting her therapy routine. 7 times she had watched the ones she loves burn before her. 7 times she had died alongside them.

...Now 8 times. This time the dream focused only on Natasha, who had fought until the very end until she was knocked down to the dusty ground in front of Darcy.

Darcy scribbles quickly the three things the therapist had requested: date, what happened, and who died. She writes down her name and Natasha’s, turns to find Natasha reading over her shoulder. Her brow is creased in concern when their eyes meet.

“You died and it was my fault.” Darcy breathes out her confession. “You died.” Her tears fall again and Natasha blinks at her. She lets the book and pen roll off of her lap and onto the floor.

“It was a dream.” Natasha consoles her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault because it didn’t actually happen.” Darcy turns to her, wraps her arm around Natasha’s front and buries her head under Natasha’s chin. She’s mirrored this pose with Clint before. It puts her ear close enough to hear Natasha’s steady heartbeat, a small comfort in the shaking minutes after she wakes up. 

Natasha shifts until they are laying down, facing one another and she gathers Darcy more firmly in her embrace. “I’m here and whole- as are you, Darcy. It was only a dream,” Natasha murmurs comfort into the top of Darcy’s head and it helps center her. 

Darcy tilts her head and presses a kiss to Natasha’s collarbone, her neck, pulls back to lean up and press a tentative kiss to her lips. She raises a hand that has only just steadied itself to press gently against the side of Natasha’s face as she brushes her lips against hers again, and then again. Natasha pulls away, but Darcy chases after her with a desperation she would be embarrassed by if she were in her right mind. “Tash, please,” she whispers into Natasha’s mouth. “ I want...” 

Natasha brushes a tear from her face with her thumb and holds her face steady so that their eyes meet. “Darcy, please.” Natasha echoes. “You want comfort, I can grant you comfort. But this will not be how I learn your body. Not tonight, not with fear still shaking your limbs.”

Her words cut through the fog clouding Darcy’s brain and she pulls away, her eyes wide, shame coloring her cheeks. “Oh, Tash. I’m sorry.” She tries to scramble away, retreat to the living room or the depths of hell where she can die of the shame eating through her fear. Natasha’s arms have become steel bands, so she escapes her gaze by covering her face in her hands. 

Natasha leans forward and her breath tickles the hands covering Darcy’s face. “The next time you have a nightmare I promise to make you forget that New Mexico exists; that there is life outside of us in this bed. I’ll bring you teetering to the edge of orgasm then slow down. You’ll cry out but it will be for want of more and not for fear.” Darcy drops her hands to her mouth, staring wide eyed at Natasha’s promise. “You’ll scream for me,  _ kotyonok,  _ and it won’t be because you think you’ve seen me die. You’ll scream out as you realize that I am teasing your body, controlling your pleasure with just my words, my mouth, my touch.” Darcy draws in a ragged breath, easily imagining the scene Natasha paints her with her words. Natasha gently tugs a hand from her mouth and as soon as it is clear, she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Darcy’s mouth with a smile.  “But tonight I will offer you comfort by holding you close and reassuring you that we are both whole. You need your sleep, Darcy.” 

“I’m, uh, not sure I can manage sleep after that imagery,” Darcy confesses.

“Hopefully, it will give you something more pleasant to dream about.” Her grin is sharp and hot. “Do you take anything to help you sleep?”

Darcy shakes her head. “No, they all leave me too fuzzy to function.”

“Roll onto your stomach.” Natasha untangles their limbs. “Clint always requests I scratch his back when he can’t sleep. He swears it lulls him straight to sleep.” Darcy rolls over, her side pressed against Natasha. The first stroke of Natasha’s fingers pulls Darcy’s tank top up to bare her back. Then the fingers stroke up and down, side to side all across her back, her fingernails lightly scratching a path around the dips of Darcy’s flesh. The comforting rhythm lulls Darcy to sleep, just as Natasha had promised.

 

~


	4. No matter what we give it leaves us wanting more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *blush*
> 
> I love it when a plan comes together...

A soft kiss wakes her up the next morning. She blinks blearily up at Natasha who is fully dressed and holding a mug of coffee. When she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed, Natasha passes her the mug. It’s a homemade mocha, using her powdered hot chocolate mix she thinks, and her heart skips a beat.

“You’re my favorite.” Darcy moans into the cup.

“I’m telling Clint you said that.” Natasha grins.

Darcy thinks about it and then shrugs. “Totally worth it if you keep making me coffee.” She checks her phone, notices the time and groans. “Ugh. Work.”

“It’s a Friday and you’ll see Clint and me tonight. You’ll make it through.” Darcy grumbles and stumbles to her closet, pulling out the first pair of jeans and shirt that her hand brushes. She decides to change there in the room in front of Natasha, because after the night before, there’s not much she wants to hide. She does keep her back to the other woman as she slips on her underthings to maintain- what, an air of mystery? She's too tired to examine her reasons. 

Natasha approaches her and wraps arms around her body before she can pull the shirt on over her bra. “I need to leave now. I wanted to wake you up before I left.” She slants her lips over Darcy’s, presses a kiss to her bared shoulder, then backs away. “See you tonight.”

“Tonight,” Darcy echoes with a smile and then Natasha is gone. It takes concentration to continue dressing, to slip her shirt on and grab shoes before heading out to the kitchen. She finds that Natasha had cleaned up everything from the night before. The pitcher, cups, and plates are on a dish towel drying by the sink. Darcy can't picture Natasha hand washing the dishes and decides she wants to watch her go about everyday tasks and take notes. She wonders idly if Natasha wound up with a line of water across her shirt from the wet counter, or if her inherent grace saved her from even that normal indignity. 

Darcy leaves her empty coffee cup in the sink and heads to work in a fog. 

~

She walks into the lab to find a group of people crowded around their printer grumbling and her day doesn’t get any better from there. All praise to Thor, she wore a tee shirt she didn’t love to pieces because by noon she is covered in powdered black ink but the printer actually prints. A day's worth of queue backup spits out while Darcy munches a packet of peanut butter crackers and makes sure it doesn’t jam and/or explode again. 

The repairman called in by the office manager arrives at 3pm and Darcy has to walk away before she takes her frustration out on him. Competence required communication. She whines to Jane who points out that Stark has lines of communications open between all levels of staff and wouldn’t that be nice. Darcy has been careful to not push one way or the other. Jane has to make the decision, and not because Darcy is excited she would get to see her...Clint more. 

It’s 4pm before she hears from Clint.

_ natasha says you wore a dress for her. _

_ youve not worn a dress for me. _

_ will you wear one tonight? _

She wants to argue but in all probability, she hadn’t worn a dress around him. It wouldn’t hurt to get all dolled up for tonight. She definitely has to change out of this ruined shirt (and she hopes the black smears come off her hands).

_ I think I can manage that. _

_ We eating out or you bringing food? _

 

_ tash says we’re cooking. _

_ so prepare yourself for that. _

 

_ Oh wow. Will you wear my pretty floral apron? _

 

_ only your apron, promise. ;) _

Darcy rolls her eyes and sticks the phone back in her pocket. She wonders what they will make, but decides the surprise might be nice.

It’s 6:30 pm before Jane remembers she hasn’t checked in with Darcy about her spy troubles.

“You okay, Darce?” She asks, approaching Darcy at the long counter at the back of the room. Darcy looks up from sorting papers and shrugs.

“Natasha came over last night. They’re both coming over tonight. I, uh, guess I’m doing the thing.” Darcy checks the lab to make sure there aren’t any other ears listening.

Jane squeals and nearly jumps up and down. “Oh, I’m so happy for you.” Her face goes serious. “If they hurt you, just let me know. I’m sure I can figure out a way to send a localized black hole to swallow them up.” 

“You’re scary, Janey. Very scary.” Darcy hugs her friend. “But thank you for the support. Is it time to go home now?”

“Good enough for me.” Jane is the best. Literally the best.

~

Back at home, Darcy makes sure her room is immaculate. She’s no simpering virgin; she’s pretty sure they’ll wind up in her bedroom tonight. Maybe only to sleep, but maybe .... hopefully...

She wore a knit a-line dress for Natasha the night before. Tonight, she picks out a lacy, empire waisted concoction. The short sleeves are a fluttering lace that graces the bodice as well. It makes her look soft and feminine. She strips down in her bathroom and scrubs at her hands and her right elbow, where somehow the ink had travelled. Natasha’s magical exfoliating hand soap helps take care of the worst of the black. 

When she’s finally sure she won’t stain the dress, she puts it on. There are four pearl buttons on the bodice. She leaves the top one unbuttoned because she’s got ample bosom to fill it out. Darcy may or may not hum “When You Got It, Flaunt It!” as she puts in pearl earrings. She swipes on a bit of mascara and her favorite matte red lipstick.

Yup, she’s playing the feminine up. 

Yup, it makes her smile.

Clint lets himself in while Darcy is still back in her bedroom. She comes out to find Natasha unloading grocery bags into her fridge and Clint pulling out a frying pan and sheet pan.

“Hey,” she greets as she enters the kitchen. “Did you buy out the store?”

“Only half of it.” Clint is slipping on her floral apron as he greets her with a quick kiss. Natasha passes him a package of chicken and takes a few potatoes to the sink. “You look beautiful, Darce.”

“What are you making?” Darcy asks.

“Rosemary chicken with roasted root vegetables.” Natasha answers. She turns from the sink to give Darcy a once over. “He’s right; you’re lovely.”

“I like that you got dressed up for us,” Clint smirks as he starts preheating the pan on the stove.

“Okay, first off you asked and second off I always look good.” Darcy pouts.

“He just wants tonight to be special for you,  _ kotyonok _ ,” Natasha says over her shoulder as she washes the potatoes in the sink. 

Darcy is appeased but still feels a bit awkward. The two easily move around each other, preparing her dinner, and she is left just standing there. She tries very hard to not have flashbacks to schoolyard four square games but it’s a bit unfair she hasn’t been picked to help the team when it’s her own kitchen.

She steps onto the tile. “Is there something I should be doing? Can I help?” Her strength lies in baking, not in cooking but she could certainly do some prep work.

Clint has the chicken sizzling in the pan and is washing his hands at the sink. Natasha has pulled a wicked looking knife out of the knife block Darcy rarely uses. They both look up at her question and catch eyes with each other. 

He dries his hand on the apron and approaches her with a grin. The counter beside her is mostly clear; Clint pushes the toaster back against the low wall. His hands find her waist and he lifts her smoothly onto the counter. “Kitten, we are here to cook dinner for you. You aren’t to lift a finger except to ask for more.” He runs his fingers through her hair, arranging it over her shoulder with an absent-minded sort of reverence like he can’t quite control the open adoration on his face. “Sit here and be a beautiful distraction. You can even critique our techniques like we’re on Iron Chef.” 

It’s a bit like watching the competitive television program. Clint moves single-minded across the kitchen, grabbing what he needs while running a hand across Natasha’s arm or shoulder as soon as he is within arms reach. Whenever she is close enough, he has to touch her in some way. Natasha, on the other hand, seems to know exactly where he is at all times and avoids running into him. She makes conscious decisions to bump her hip into his as she bends to put her pan in the oven. For every five times Clint reaches for Natasha, she reaches out once. 

Natasha brings her a glass of white wine and a kiss. “Your cabinet is a mess. Would it be overstepping to fix it?” She had gone to find garlic powder and had wound up with a counter full of random tiny containers of spices and teas Darcy collected but rarely used. There are potatoes, sweet potatoes, and carrots roasting happily in the oven and the smells filling her apartment are making her hungry. 

Darcy takes the chance to reach out and touch the woman, taking a page from Clint’s book. Her hand slides into Natasha’s hair and her thumb brushes across her cheekbone. Natasha’s eyes darken and she leans into another kiss, this one more aggressive, stealing her breath. 

“Uh... No, go for it.” Darcy bites her tingling lower lip as Natasha backs away to clean up the mess on her counter. She ogles the woman as she stretches to reorganize her things. It’ll be a tiny thrill each time she opens that cabinet now. 

She’s overcome with a need to be held. It’s so surreal, her life, and maybe having a tactile reminder that this is actual real life will help ground her. Her hop to the floor is inelegant and catches Clint’s attention as he slides his pan into the oven.

“We’ve got about 20 minutes before dinner is served.” He announces as she slides up and wraps her arms around him, tucking one hand into his back pocket, the other pressed flat between his shoulder blades. She buries her nose in his chest and breathes deeply of him. This is real.

His hand cups the back of her head and he presses a kiss to her crown. “Hello, love.” Clint slides his hands down to bracket her waist. “Jump.” She unwinds her arms and hops into his hold, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifts her. He shifts, tugging at the fabric of her dress until he can palm her ass with just one layer of fabric between him and her skin. “More lace? Jesus, kitten, you’re trying to kill me.”

“Can’t kill you, you’re no use to me if you’re dead.” Darcy grins. 

Clint rolls his eyes and turns to face Natasha. “The troublemaker and I will be on the couch if you need us.” He nuzzles into Darcy’s neck between words, nipping gently at the skin he finds. 

Natasha comes up behind Darcy. “I know which one of you is the trouble.” She says and her mouth is so close to Darcy’s ear, the sound of her voices curls it’s way through her system. Her hands tease up Darcy’s sides, under Clint’s arms, and lightly cup Darcy’s breasts through her dress. Darcy is wrapped in them both for a brief shining moment. Then Natasha reaches up and slyly undoes the three remaining buttons on the bodice of the dress. She tugs the two panels down to reveal a portion of Darcy’s bra then backs away. “There, now she is ready for your trouble.”

“Perfect.” Clint presses lips to the smooth flesh Natasha had revealed then twists to kiss Natasha. “Thank you,” She nods once and returns to the cabinet. Clint turns to carry her out of the kitchen. 

He drops down on the couch and arranges her legs so she is straddling his lap, all without removing his lips from her neck. He’s found a spot that sends electric shivers through her body and he isn’t letting up. She chokes off a sound that's too close to a mew- because the kitten analogy shouldn’t go that far- and he pulls back.

“Missed you last night,” Clint says and she freezes like the guilty against him.

“M’sorry.” She’s mumbling, unsure. When she leans back to look at his face, she sees he’s smiling. He’s not mad or...well, she had been expecting a negative emotion but he seems content. 

“Nothing to be sorry for; you were with Natasha.” Clint has his hands in her hair again. He tugs it around to lay against her breasts, and it’s almost long enough to cover the bodice. He runs his hands through it, stroking the back of fingers against the tops of her breasts. She shifts in his lap, drawing his attention from her hair back to her face, her lips. 

When his first searching kiss turns into his tongue seeking entrance, she opens to it. Darcy leans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He has an appreciative noise or two in response to her gentle tugging. She arches her back and rotates her hips against his jeans. 

She loses all sense of time to his lips and hands. Darcy knows he kisses every inch of available flesh and follows his ministrations with clever, tickling hands. She’s sucking at one muscled shoulder, wanting desperately to mark this man who drives her crazy when she feels the warmth of another body behind her. Clever fingers slip inside her bra. The fingers pinch her nipples and she jerks back to lean against Natasha, wanting more. 

Natasha twists her hands and her breasts are free from the cups of her bra, squeezed together out in the cool air. Clint’s hooded eyes watch Darcy’s face as Natasha returns her fingers to tease her. She alternates between pinching, twisting and gently massaging, and with so many inputs, her brain can’t keep up. Clint kneads at her waist. Darcy's hands are fisted in the fabric of her skirt but she focuses on loosening her grip, raising her arms to travel up to grip Natasha’s shoulders. It stretches her out against the other woman, pulls at her muscles, and bares more skin. 

The sensuous torture slows and Natasha is cupping Darcy’s breasts in her hand, stroking gently with her thumbs. “I came out to tell you dinner was ready, but I got distracted.” Clint grins at Natasha’s confession.

“It’s easy with Darcy.” He leans forward and licks at Darcy’s nipple before pulling her bra and bodice up to cover her again. She is still wantonly on display though more modestly covered than mere seconds before. Natasha helps her stand and she shakes her skirt out and readjusts the dress, though she leaves the buttons undone. 

When they all re-enter the kitchen, Darcy finds that Natasha has set up a buffet line of sorts. Plates and silverware followed by the pans with serving utensils. They both insist she fill her plate first and she recognizes it as a sign of respect from her early years at church potlucks. It’s the kind of seemingly insignificant honor that worms its way into her heart. She fills her plate and at the end of the counter realizes she does not have enough seating for them. 

“I guess we are taking this lovely meal and eating on the couch,” Darcy says. 

“I figured we could use your throw pillows as cushions and eat at the coffee table,” Clint says as he comes up beside her. “That'll work just fine.” She makes a mental note to search for a third stool. It won’t match but as long as it’s the same height, it will be fine.

He leads the way to the couch, tosses a few pillows down, and lowers himself to the ground. Darcy leaves her plate and heads back to the kitchen for her wine glass- which has been magically refilled. 

They all sit on the floor, backs against the couch and food on the coffee table. Clint queues up a horror movie showing on a popular network despite Darcy’s request that they watch literally anything but that. She loudly protests every dumb move the cast of teenagers makes but still jumps and yelps at the perfectly timed jump-scares. 

By the film’s finale, Darcy has her face buried in Clint’s shoulder and is mumbling about not having escape routes. “Who runs upstairs? Why was that the plan? Why am I even watching this?” A door slams down the hall in her building during a commercial break and it scares her enough that she jumps up. She hates scary movies. “Nope, they all die- the end!”

She bends down to grab her plate and surveys the remaining plates. “Are you done? I could take them to the kitchen.” Natasha and Clint start to protest but she reminds them that they cooked for her and she can damn well clean. She accepts their stacked plates and carries them to the kitchen. Darcy takes the time to scrape off the plates into the trash can and put the remaining chicken and veggies into a plastic container. The sneaky sneaks had made way too much food and she wonders if it’s a ploy to keep her fed.

It’s not particularly cowardly that she hangs out in the kitchen until she hears the credits roll. Honestly, Darcy was just tidying up and doing the dishes. Making herself drink some water. Looking over what magic Natasha had managed in her cabinet. When she reenters the living room, she finds Clint and Natasha absorbed in one another. They’re having a whispered conversation, his hand cupping her face. As she pauses by the couch, they turn as one to her. It’s a bit overwhelming to find herself the focus of both super hot spies, so she opens her mouth and her nerves fly right out to say hello. “Can it be braid time now?”

Clint pulls himself up. “And I’d just gotten used to it being down,” Darcy smirks at him as he approaches her. He reaches out and wraps her hair around his hand, tugging gently before taking advantage of the angle to take her mouth. 

When he finally comes up for air, Natasha has taken a seat on the couch. “He’s requested a Katniss braid if you’d like.”

“Oh, the cool sideways braid?” Darcy asks.

“Exactly. The braid of an archer.” Clint waggles his eyebrows up and down and Darcy punches him on the arm.

“Dork.” Darcy grins. “I like it.”

Clint is ordered to retrieve the brush and Darcy lowers herself to the ground in front of Natasha. Kneeling before the woman, she grins up at her. “I super love that you can braid hair. It’s like my favorite thing in the world.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it.” Natasha smiles. Her face is relaxed and beautiful beyond belief. Darcy gives in to her urge, sits up on her knees and kisses Natasha’s nose. Clint interrupts their moment by returning with the brush, so Darcy turns around to take her spot on the floor.

It’s a bit like deja vu for Darcy as Natasha threads her hands in her hair. She tries to keep her eyes open this time, against the pleasant sensations traveling her scalp. 

The braid doesn’t get very far.

Clint saunters off and comes back in just her floral apron, a box of Oreos on a tray. Natasha and Darcy give into the laughs; then Darcy gives into the urge to stand up and kiss the goofy archer. When he tangles his hand in her half-done hair, Natasha steps in to complain about his destruction, but mainly to get in on the action.

Natasha has distracted him with a punishing kiss and Darcy takes advantage of that to duck out from between them. She grabs the ties of the apron and uses it to pull him back toward to the bedroom. They manage to walk backward smoothly, without tripping, without coming up for breath. Darcy boggles at the sheer balance it takes for them to maintain their positions. It’s a bit like watching walking art. The jerks.

What follows is condensed in her mind into a series of replayable vignettes, scenes she will pull out again and again when she needs to get off. 

She sees herself kneeling between Clint’s thighs, her mouth wrapped around his hard cock. Natasha has her hair wrapped around her fist and is controlling the angle and speed with which Darcy takes Clint. It’s rough and gentle and not enough and too much. 

Her dress slipped up and over her head, tangling her hands in the mess of cloth. Her legs spread, two mouths exploring every inch of skin as hands slide her panties off. Coming hard with two names on her lips. 

Clint fucking Natasha until she came with a cry that Darcy swallowed in a bruising kiss. 

Lying with her head on Clint’s shoulder, Natasha spooned up behind her.

Waking up tangled between them, half on top of Natasha.

When she shifts and opens her eyes, Clint tightens the arm that’s wrapped around her and Natasha presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning.” She hums into Natasha’s shoulder. It probably sounds more like ‘googornin’’, but they seem to get the idea.

“Mornin’ kitten.” Clint answers. “Y’want pancakes?”

“When I can move again, sure. ‘Til then, Natasha is my pillow.” Darcy snuggles deeper into the covers, lays a palm flat on Natasha’s stomach. Her skin is smooth and cool and Darcy wants to press her cheek to it, wants to feel the softness against her face. Unfortunately, she lacks the energy to make the slide down her body.

They’re silent for a bit in the golden sunshine filtering through her tiny bedroom window. Then Clint rolls towards them. “I’ve got an appointment on Tuesday. With the quack.”

“That’s good.” Darcy smiles over at him. She wants to jump up and down and cheer, but she’s pretty sure there’s some rule that would make him uncomfortable with her cheering him on.

Natasha’s fingers clench briefly on her upper arm and she thinks they are both thinking the same thing. “Should we make plans to have dinner after?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Clint agrees. He shifts to sit up, trying to not take the sheets with him. “Pancakes are still good, right?”

“Yes, please.” Darcy answers. He saunters naked out to her kitchen, grabbing up the discarded floral apron on his way.

~

 


	5. But there's no harbor here (only danger near)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Trigger Warning: Attempted Sexual Assault
> 
> Clint is the attacker. It's not a great look for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next two chapters were exceedingly hard for me to write and may be exceedingly hard for you to read. 
> 
> If you don't like things that end sad, allow me to paint you this picture: Therapy gives Clint goals to work on and gradually they all become better communicators, better at dealing with the darkness they all carry. Darcy moves in with them after four months of them trying to sleep on her full sized mattress. She makes cookies every week. Natasha braids Darcy's hair when they get back from difficult missions. Clint starts keeping a journal. They work out together, sleep together, live together. It all ends with a hazy happily ever after.
> 
>  
> 
> Or if you'd prefer the truth, please read on:

Darcy isn’t big on praying; her parents had been big on the socialization of churches and less on the dogma. She had attended Monday Night Bingo at the Catholic Archdiocese, Taco Tuesday Youth Group at the First Baptist Church, Wednesday Night Supper at the City on a Hill Worship Center, and Thursday Night Youth at the Jewish Community Center. Early on, she had copped to the fact her parents considered these events as free babysitting. Participating became less of a priority for her as she grew up and started questioning the similarities between the faiths (and could legally be left at home alone without burning the house down). Rebelling against any organized faith followed shortly after.

In any case, religious or not, the act of praying was one she hadn’t partaken of in years. Not since her momma passed on five years ago. But the urge haunted her all weekend.

Natasha and Clint had been on some Avengers Initiative training upstate all weekend. They arrived late Monday and asked to come over but Darcy thought it best they have some debrief time with the team.

Come Tuesday morning, Darcy is a ball of nerves anticipating Clint’s appointment that night. She mindlessly dressed for work when she couldn’t sleep anymore. Two cups of coffee went cold in her hands before her alarm for the day blared to life.

Finally, desperate, she sat heavily on the couch and called out to all the iterations of deities she could imagine. 

Darcy prays that Clint will be able to open up at the appointment. That he will confront whatever lurks in the back of his mind. That all traces and memories of Loki will be banished. That beyond all else, this will help and not hinder his progress in healing.

She isn’t sure she should end it with an ‘amen,’ so she settles for a plaintive  _ please _ followed by a  _ thank you _ .

It doesn't make her feel any better, but it has taken up enough time that she can go on to work without being the first one there. 

~

There was work to be done and she had done it. Or at least, she assumed she had. By the end of the day, she had more papers on her desk and fewer e-mails than she remembered from the morning. However, if anyone had quizzed Darcy on what exactly she had focused on that day, the answer would be Clint.

Since nobody complained or grabbed her as she pulled out her things to leave, she assumed it had been a semi-productive work day. Two hours to go until their planned rendezvous for dinner after his appointment. Darcy had scoped out a cafe on the same block as the hypnotherapist and planned to grab a coffee and read up on hypnotherapy while she waited. 

By the time she was sat with her coffee, her mind felt like the browser on her tablet- too many tabs open and none of them made sense in context with one another. She tried to methodically work her way through the basics to give herself a better idea of what Clint was facing. Instead, she found herself just staring out of the window. 

She knew he would be taken back in his mind to the actual event; made to face his fear within his own memories. 

She knew just the thought of facing what he had gone through with Loki made her stomach twist in on itself.

The timer on her phone went off to indicate his designated appointment time had now concluded. Darcy clenched her phone tight waiting for the text he was to send when he came out. Time ticked by and Darcy sat frozen, in standby mode. Had something gone wrong? Had the appointment been too horrible?

~

Clint remembers walking into the beige office of the hypno-what’s-his-face. Even the front desk receptionist had been in khakis and a beige top. He remembers trying not to snort as the doc started in on some kind of bogus mumbo jumbo. Clint had promised Darcy- promised Tash- that he would put an effort into this. 

“You’ve got to acknowledge the darkness, bring it out into the light and name it. That’s what I’m here for. We will go through your memories of that time and by reliving them, hopefully, we will strip them of their power over you.” The man is talking as he takes off his glasses and folds them neatly on the table beside him. (The table is light oak. Beige, beige, beige.)

He gives in and follows the doc’s instructions. It’s just an hour. It won’t kill him to try. Hell, it could just give him a nice hour of meditation. He remembers deciding that meditation before dinner might be nice. 

After a few minutes of listening to the doc droning about something or another, Clint feels calm rush over him. Just as he decides to give in, just as he sinks into it, the Darkness rises up. He can’t fight it; it’s too strong and it’s everywhere at once. Loki’s voice sounds in his brain and there’s anger and desperation clawing at his throat. 

His vision goes red and then goes dark.

~

Clint isn’t sure where he is, but he is sure he doesn’t want to be here. Has he left the doc’s office? Haze covers everything and the noises come to him as if they were far away and under water. His senses are mixed up and confused and it makes him dizzy.

The familiar feeling of helplessness swamps him and he gives in to the desperation. Somebody else is driving his body; he’s just along for the ride. His last conscious, whole thought is that he hopes no one dies this time.

~

Darcy jumps up when she sees a familiar figure stalking down the sidewalk in front of the cafe. He’s moving quick but she grabs her stuff up and stumbles hastily out of the door.

“Clint!!” she shouts loud enough for the people around her to look up at them before continuing on their paths. He freezes but doesn’t turn around. Darcy shoves things back into her bag as she walks around him. “Dude, you said you’d call when your appointment was over.”

He looks shell-shocked. His face is blank, his eyes wide. “Clint, are you okay?” She reaches out and brushes a hand down his arm, wrapping her fingers around his and giving them a squeeze. “Tell me how I can help. Let me get Natasha here and we can go for food or get you home if that would be better?” She shoots a quick one-handed text off to Natasha and he still hasn’t moved beyond looking down at her. 

There’s a spark of something in his eyes and he lifts their linked hands to his mouth, presses a kiss to her knuckles. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t miss the small shiver that rockets down her spine in response to the tiny action. 

Clint smiles and it’s feral and ....a bit calculating. Darcy stiffens but she doesn’t have much time to contemplate how wrong the expression looked flickering across Clint’s features. He pulls her against him for a bruising kiss, one that has her gasping into his mouth in shock. He gentles the kiss enough to have her leaning into it as her phone goes off against her thigh. They are two rocks in the stream; pedestrians flow around them as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Darcy pulls her phone out to check the message and Clint tugs on their connected hands, leading them away from the middle of the walkway. “It’s Tasha. She’s close. We can just stay at the cafe and meet up here.” She’s mumbling at her phone, texting and following Clint. 

When she looks up she realizes they are in the alleyway beside the cafe. He pushes her roughly against the wall of the building, crowding her against the shadows before she can say a word. Clint has a fondness for having her up against walls, but he usually cradled her head from bumping, kept a hand on her hip to keep from being  _ too _ rough. This time, he doesn’t and her head bounces with a loud thwack that has her closing her eyes against a blinding sear of pain. 

Before she can recover, Clint devours her mouth. It’s not pleasant; not like his usual style at all. Darcy is stiff against his insistent kiss. She raises her hands to push against his shoulders, taps fists against him twice in quick succession. These moves had gotten him to retreat in the past, acted as her safe word, made him give her room to breathe when she was overwhelmed but there’s no movement to give her space. Rather than back away, he pushes closer, a thigh wedging between her legs. She can’t breathe and he’s too close, too rough.

Finally, he pulls away from her lips but before she can get a lungful of air his thick hand is pressing against her throat tightly. She brings her hands up to pull against his, nails scratching him in desperation for him to snap out of whatever is happening right now. “Mmm, I like you like this,” Clint says against her cheek.  He grabs one of her hands and pulls it away, slamming it back against the wall. His fingers tighten and release against her throat in a pattern Darcy has no choice but to focus on. Her breaths rasp in her chest and there isn’t enough oxygen and why is this happening?

When she tilts her head up to catch his eyes, to search for some sort of answer, she finds his eyes are dark and cold. There’s no warmth there; no pity, no love...there’s not even a hint of want. He’s not kissing her like this because he couldn’t take another breath without the taste of her lips on his own. He hasn’t forgotten himself in some lust fueled primate-brain sex mission. She begins to struggle against him anew. This isn’t right. This can’t be happening. He’s doing this because... Darcy can’t finish the thought because his whispered words continue, his lips pressed against her ear. “You should be more willing to please your betters.”

She freezes. The hissed words sting- or maybe the sting was his teeth against her earlobe.

“You can’t deny that I am your better. You know I could take you down here and now.” He constricts his hand around her throat and his eyes glimmer as she pants, “Now isn’t that a pretty little thought. I could take you here on the street where all these strangers can see what an easy slut you are.” 

He cups his hand against her, palming her through her jeans. Both of her hands are now free to hit and push at his chest as he gropes her. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you, little one? Is your quim calling out for me to take it as my tribute?”

He flicks fingers against the button of her jeans, getting the first button undone. She never thought she’d be thankful for the ridiculous styling code that had called for this high waisted pair of jeans to have three buttons. When he growls frustration at not having enough leverage to get at the next buttons without removing his hand from her throat, he instead focuses on tearing at her shirt. He pulls at the collar and the back of her neck burns but it only stretches, it doesn’t give. She stomps at his feet and he merely laughs and lifts her higher by her throat.

Darcy doesn’t have the air to scream, but she grits her teeth and forces out a screech. He smiles his pleasure at the sound and she closes her eyes as he leans in close. She’s gathering her energy, trying to remember the self-defense courses from college, trying to decide if she has it in her to fend off Clint, her  _ Clint _ , when suddenly the grip at her throat loosens and is gone.

With the full weight of his body removed, Darcy collapses to her knees and coughs violently. Her throat burns and tears cloud her vision, but she sees that Natasha has Clint against the opposite wall in some kind of hold. 

“Tash-” Her voice is hoarse but Natasha acknowledges her with a quick glance over her shoulder. “He... He-” 

Natasha cuts off her rambling. “Are you able to walk,  _ kotyonok?” _

Clint sneers into the side of the building and Darcy can’t hear every word, but she catches ‘red’ and ‘ledgers’ before Natasha slams him roughly against the wall and refocuses on Darcy.

“Darcy. Can you walk?”

“Maybe. Yes?” She stands shakily to test her assertion. Her legs are uninjured but jelly filled. Her head swims and the world tilts and she leans back against the wall to try and steady herself. “I don’t think I can-”

“I need you to leave now. Go to Jane.” She orders.

Darcy can’t leave. She doesn’t know how or even if she can help in this case; doesn’t really want to be in this horrible alley with his voice still ringing in her ear, but she feels the need to try. She doesn’t want to be alone; doesn’t think she can walk unassisted; doesn’t want Natasha alone with him in the face of his... _ wrongness _ . Maybe she could call someone, get back up here for them. “But, Tash-”

Natasha cuts her off, again. Darcy tries not to be frustrated by it. She doesn’t give in to the urge to collapse to the ground and cry. She’s strong enough to make it through. “Go. I’ve got him.” Then she tempers her tone, tries for gentle as she shoves a struggling Clint harder against the wall. “Text me when you are safe.”

~

Darcy definitely doesn’t stumble out of the alleyway like the leader of a pack of zombies. She blends blindly back into the flow of people. It’s still light out. The sun is sinking behind the buildings but the dusky light still falls across the city and how can that be so?

She’s going to be sick. Her shoulders are hunched around her ears and her arms are wrapped tight around herself. If she lets herself go, she might shake until she breaks apart. The sidewalk moves beneath her feet and she watches it pass by, only looking up at intersections.

She’s knocking on Jane’s door before her brain can struggle past the initial  _ Why _ ?

“Darcy?” Jane swings the door open wide and concern leaks out of her words when she catches the full view of Darcy. “What happened? What’s wrong?” 

Darcy opens her mouth but a keening interrupts anything she might say. She wonders briefly how she’s managing to make that much noise through the pain, but Jane has wrapped her in her arms and pulled her inside and tightly against her. The wail is muffled by Jane’s shoulder and Darcy swallows hard her throat burning.

Jane is calling to Thor and escorting her over to the sofa. Maybe this is what hyperventilating feels like. Jane rubs at her back and makes soothing noises, speaking lowly to Thor. He stands there, looking helpless and concerned while Darcy tries to breathe through the bile rising in her throat.

“Clint...” Darcy starts. Jane looks back at Darcy, catches note of her throat and gasps, hands covering her mouth. “Clint attacked...”

“Oh, Darcy. Oh, no,” Janes moans. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“Me.” Darcy finishes with a tear-filled snarl. “He attacked me. Natasha pulled him off me.”

“He...” Jane takes a deep breath and stands up. “He the fucking what?” And now she’s pacing and cursing and no longer the center of calm worry she had been. Jane’s voice is low and scary as she orders Thor to find him. Darcy is pretty sure the big man understands she doesn’t mean to simply locate the archer, but rather to inflict some promise of pain upon him in retaliation. 

Thor looks uncomfortable at the request, but his resolve strengthens when he takes in Darcy’s appearance once more. Darcy wonders what he must think of her, knows that she lacks the strength-- and maybe even the inclination-- to request some sort of leniency for the man she loved....loves? It’s too much to think about. There’s even some part of her that longs for Thor to inflict damage. 

It’s all very Shakespearean. 

When he leaves, Darcy slowly calms to the occasional hiccuping breath. Jane makes tea and wraps Darcy’s hands around the mug. She provides Darcy with sweatpants and an oversized hoodie when she freaks out about still being in the clothes he touched. Her shirt is stretched out and still bears the impression of his fingers where he had gripped the collar. When she changes, she catalogues the bruising in the mirror, wonders how bad her back will be from the rough wall behind her. Darcy slips off the leather bracelet that kept her connected to both Clint and Natasha, tucks it away in her shoe and out of sight. She doesn’t let herself cry for the loss of the bracelet- or for what it means for their relationship. There will be time enough to mourn that later. 

Jane uses her phone to google a crisis hotline and how to report an assault. Darcy shakes her head and buries deeper under a blanket at the information, but Jane e-mails it all to herself just in case.

At some point, Jane turns on the television for the companionable mumbling in the background. 

At some point, her tea goes cold and is replaced with a fresh, warm mug.

At some point, the tears stop falling as her eyes stare unblinkingly into Jane’s rug.

At some point, she realizes the screaming in her brain has quieted to discomfited sobs.

~

Time passes; it’s cold and unfeeling that way. Jane has grabbed her laptop and is busily typing away. Darcy knows she isn’t ignoring her, knows without a doubt Jane is only working because Darcy hasn’t pointed her to a way to use Jane’s pent-up adrenaline. 

Where Darcy is a Carer, Jane is a Fixer- and when a Fixer can’t Fix, they tend to go a bit batty. 

“Jane,” her voice is hoarse and is it from the crying or from the way his hand had squeezed against her...

“Jane,” she says again, louder this time. Partially to catch Jane’s attention and partially to drown out the rising wails in the back of her head. She will not be pulled under again. There are things that need doing.

“Darcy!” Jane throws her laptop down on the coffee table and kneels in front of her. “Darcy.” She repeats again. It’s a question of how she can help; a statement of sympathy. 

“I can’t go back to my apartment. Can’t stay there. He...they can get in.” She amends mid-sentence. “Can I...?” It annoys her that so many words she wants to say are swallowed by pregnant pauses. Words left unsaid, written in invisible ink in the way she trails off.

“Of course you can stay here.” Jane sounds angry that Darcy would even think to ask-- and of course, Jane would understand her need. “I’ll send Thor to your apartment to grab you some things. Do you want to make a list? Tell me what you need.”

Making a list helps. Making a list turns into proofreading Jane’s blurb for the Toronto conference. Proofreading turns into checking her work e-mails, turns into looking at cat memes, turns into streaming funny animal videos on Jane’s TV, turns into curling up with her head in Jane’s lap as they watch infomercials.

They’re still awake to greet the morning sun when Thor returns and pulls Jane into the bedroom. Darcy tries not to listen in but Jane’s voice gets loud and shrill when she’s mad.

“That doesn’t excuse his actions!” Jane near screeches.

There’s a rumble of words like thunder just as impassioned as Jane’s words.

“You won’t take me but you’ll drop everything to take the man that just attacked my Darcy?” My Darcy, indeed. It makes Darcy smile that Jane claims her like that. But the slamming noises that indicate Jane might actually be throwing things make her worry.

The rumbled thunder is calmer in response, more apologetic- a distant storm over the ocean. Jane is crying; Darcy can hear the tears in her response, even if she can’t hear the words. There comes a pause and then Jane hisses something, quick and almost violent, as she comes through the door and back out to where Darcy sits on the couch.

“Thor will go and grab the things from your apartment before he returns to Asgard.” Jane announces, then turns to go make more tea. It gives her shaking hands something to do. 

Thor stares after his Lady Jane then turns to Darcy. He sighs and with an “I will return shortly,” he’s gone. 

Finally, she sleeps.

~

Nightmares haunt her sleep but Darcy never rouses enough from them to wake up. Jane calls the lab to check in and let them know their section will not be manned. She steals an intern from the entomologists who knows just enough about astrophysics to be dangerous. He promises to look over their equipment for any abnormalities while they are away. She watches over Darcy, worries over whether she should wake her friend up when the twitches and moans surely mean her dreams are far from pleasant. 

A knock at her door at 10am, and Natasha is standing in the hallway with two suitcases. She glances back over her shoulder to make sure Darcy is still asleep on the couch before stepping out into the hall. Natasha will not enter the apartment if it will upset Darcy again.

“Thor sent me with some of her things. She didn’t check in.” Natasha says, and there's a whisper of hurt mixed in with the concern. “I just wanted to see that she was okay.”

“She isn’t okay. She won’t be okay for a while yet.” Jane bites out. It’s not fair to take it out on Natasha, she knows that in her head but her heart longs to inflict damage in return for the damage that’s been done to her friend. “You abandoned her, made her walk the streets alone after she had been attacked.”

Natasha’s training means she doesn’t flinch from the barbed words, but Jane thinks she’s hit her mark nevertheless. “I didn’t have much of a choice. Clint had been-”

“Overtaken by Loki. Somehow. If Thor tells me the whole story.” Jane comments. Her arms are crossed. She is the sentry and there are invading attackers; Natasha is no longer automatically on the side of good.

“He was not in control. The Darkness in him had taken over. Thor is taking him to Asgard to ensure all traces of Loki have been removed.” Natasha focuses on the door beyond Jane. “To make sure Darcy will be safe around him.”

“If she ever agrees to be near him again.” Natasha agrees with Jane, a pained nod. Jane shifts, wanting this conversation to be over so she can go back to watching over Darcy. 

“Can I see her?” Natasha asks.

Jane struggles, hesitates to answer. She wants to protect Darcy, but maybe Darcy would want to see Natasha. She opens the door but issues one final warning before entering. “If you upset her in the least, you leave and you do it without fuss.” Natasha follows her in, leaves the suitcases by the door and heads to the couch Darcy is laying on. 

~

Darcy is in a neverending alleyway, unable to make it to the safety of the street beyond. Fire surrounds her, burns in overflowing dumpsters. There are no echoes of metallic death as there are in her nightmare desert. Instead, the danger stalks her from the shadows of the fire and smoke. It taunts her, calls her a whore as it aims projectiles at her fleeing back. 

There’s a whizzing noise, the sting on her cheek as an arrow comes close to catching her. 

She doesn’t want to acknowledge where the arrows are coming from; doesn’t turn around to confirm her fears. Just keeps running, fighting to escape. Tears and blood mix on her cheek and drip down her face.

“Darcy,” Her name sounds calm and firm from the light. If she can just make it there, Darcy knows she will be safe. “Darcy, you’re safe.”

One more desperate lunge, one rough slide against the gritty pavement, and she’s enveloped in the light.

She wakes up to see Natasha stroking her hair back from her face.

~

Darcy comes to slowly. She smiles up at Natasha for a single heartbeat before something in her mind equates Tasha’s presence with that of Clint. She scrambles to the far corner of the couch, looking around the apartment for him. 

Natasha stays carefully balanced where she had been crouched next to the couch. “He’s not here.” Absently Darcy reaches to worry at her wrist, longing to feel the soft leather talisman that has been her reminder of strength, of love. When she feels naked skin against her palm there’s a twist in her gut, another little stab of pain at the memory of that damned alleyway and the betrayal she had suffered.

“Oh,” Darcy tries to calm her heartbeat. She clasps her hands in her lap to keep from picking at her naked wrist. She sits back on her knees against the far corner of the couch and stares at Natasha. “Oh.”

“Have you been to see a doctor?” Tasha is focused on the bruising around her neck. 

“She refused.” Jane huffs from the table. “Didn’t want to be forced to make a report. Even though she’s got a nasty bump on her head and a scary amount of bruising.”

Natasha’s focus never waivers from Darcy. “Do you have any trouble breathing?” Darcy simply shakes her head, suddenly too exhausted to speak. What follows is a long list of diagnostic questions: where does it hurt, is her tongue swelling, any changes to her vision or lightheadedness? 

In the midst of the questioning, Darcy finds that a rising anger warms her belly. When Tasha reaches out to- what? Palpate the bruise? Stroke her cheek and tell her everything will be fine?- Darcy swats it away. “Stop. Just... Just stop, Tash.” She can feel both Jane and Natasha freeze, eyes on her. “Why are you here? Where is he?”

“He’s on Asgard,” Natasha states calmly. “With Thor.”

Darcy whirls on the couch to stare at Jane. Her friend has tears glistening in her eyes but she shrugs a confirmation.

“Why the ever-lovin’ fuck did Thor take him to Asgard?” Darcy bites out.

“The working theory is the hypnotherapist dredged up some remaining bit of Loki left behind in Clint. Thor recognizes some bit of his brother’s magic in Clint; he hopes that on Asgard they will be able to remove every trace of Loki.” Natasha's face remains carefully blank. “Clint wasn’t in control of his own body when he--”

“Pushed me up against a wall and tried to strangle me? That’s great. I’ll be sure to journal that it totes wasn’t his fault.” Darcy can feel panic rising and would much rather keep the anger. “That doesn’t make anything better, Tash.”

“Of course not,  _ kotyonok”  _ Natasha says. “I didn’t mean to imply-”

It’s Darcy’s turn to keep cutting her off. “Please go. I can’t.....” She turns back to Jane. There aren’t words in her head for what she wants to say but she definitely wants to have the oncoming freakout away from Natasha’s pity. “Jane, please.”

Jane steps forward, putting herself between Darcy and Natasha. “I think it’s best if you go.” Jane follows Natasha to the door, leaving Darcy huddled on the couch.

“You need to watch out for shortness of breath, rapid pulse, facial drooping. There are dangers that can show later, even if she is fine now. I’ll be nearby if she... If she needs anything.” And with that Natasha is gone.

~ 

Darcy moves back in with Jane. Her bedroom when they had first moved to New York had been converted to an office for Jane, but a nice air mattress takes up only half of the limited available floor space. Darcy organizes paths to and from the door so that Jane can still access her desk without stepping on Darcy. 

For a week, they work from Jane’s apartment. Darcy sets up a tray table in front of the couch to hold her laptop and Jane sets up on the table that should be for eating but has always been a catchall of things. Jane makes them take frequent breaks, trying to make sure Darcy eases her way into life without breaking. It’s such a flip of their usual roles and it both makes her feel loved and annoys the spit out of her by the third day; by the one week mark, she’s ready to scream.

“I’m fine!” Darcy twists around the scientist and heads back to her makeshift workstation from the kitchen.

“So you’ll be going to your appointment tomorrow?” Jane snarks with an expectant look.

Therapy. Shit.

“Yes. Because I’m a grown ass adult who can make her own grown ass decisions.” Darcy breezes through the sentence admirably, even as her stomach clenches. She’s been pushing everything down, avoiding it, pretending everything is fine. And while hiding away in Jane’s apartment everything has been fine.

Eventually, she will have to enter the real world, return to her apartment....maybe even see Natasha and Clint again.

Apparently, her first entry into the real world will be spilling her guts to her therapist. 

Shit.

(She looks like a victim. She feels like a victim. She’s tired and scared and aching deep in her core and maybe talking to someone will make her feel like this is less her fault. Maybe she’ll be able to accept what happened and...move on?)

~

Jane orders a car from a rideshare app and accompanies her to the appointment. Darcy had barely slept the night before and definitely had reservations about walking alone. (Over and over she had dreamed of Clint stalking her familiar path. And as he attacked her, it was his face she saw right before she woke up, his eyes black and his face twisted into a snarl of a smile.) Jane sits in the lobby of the building and doesn’t comment when Darcy emerges later with tear-swollen eyes.

It’s the shitty truth that as bad as she feels right now, she feels somewhat better than she has in a week.

By the power of some voodoo magic, Jane has delivery Chinese meet them as their driver drops them off at her building. Darcy has almost managed a smile by the time they reach Jane’s apartment. 

Thor is waiting for them in Jane’s living room, dressed in his Asgardian garb instead of his more comfortable jeans. Darcy assumes he must have just returned. She doesn’t wait to hear what he may say, just grabs her take out container and heads into Jane’s bedroom and closes the door. There’s nothing Thor can say that she is ready to hear. Avoidance is totally a valid response no matter what her therapist says...

Darcy doesn’t emerge until the front door closes near an hour later. Jane greets her with a hug.

“They were able to remove all of Loki’s spectre from Clint.” She says softly. “I know it doesn’t change what happened and it certainly does not mean you should seek him out. But I thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” Darcy slumps into the couch. “The therapist- who doesn’t believe a word I said, by the way, and thinks I was speaking in euphemisms- thinks it might be best if I see him at some point. To confront my demon, literally. I just can’t focus on that right now.”

“What if we focus on plans for Toronto? It’s in four weeks. I have the funds to bring you with me as long as we can share a hotel room.” Jane offers, turning back to the table where she had spread out.

“Yes. Perfect.” Darcy grabs her laptop and joins Jane at the table. “That way I can make triple sure you have the correct AV set up.” 

“Your peculiar love of conference set-up is my favorite part about you.” Jane snarks.

“That’s what it is today. It’ll be my filing system next week when you’re trying to add a slide to your presentation with that one fact from that one reference.” Darcy sticks out her tongue. “Where are we staying? Have you done a search of the TripAdvisor reviews?”

Naturally, Darcy falls down the rabbit hole, reading reviews first of the hotel Jane chose and then of the surrounding restaurants.

~

 


	6. I won't have another wreck upon my watch

Jane goes into the lab on Monday. It’s been too long since she laid eyes on her precious lab equipment and the natives are starting to go crazy without her presence. While she doesn’t oversee anybody other than Darcy, some of the other scientists have asked her to collaborate on a few projects currently in progress. She jets off after they share a quick breakfast of coffee and more coffee, leaving Darcy alone in her apartment. Darcy cleans the kitchen, makes muffins, and plays music just below the annoyance level. She tidies up the table that once was for eating but now has been sacrificed for Science!

There’s an offer letter and contract from Stark. Jane has filled in her details but has yet to sign. It’s all dated the day of her attack. Darcy’s heart stutters in her chest at the number of zeroes Stark would add to Janey’s research fund- not to mention to her salary. That she hasn’t signed baffles her for all of three seconds and then she remembers the pertinent facts. Clint and Natasha helped make this possible. They live in the same Tower where Jane- and by extension Darcy- will be working after they sign this contract. 

Jane has put off advancing Science! for her and it makes her so tired and so angry all at once. She scans the offer letter to find the name and contact of the person in Human Resources. 

When she explains who she is and who she works for, the man stutters through a sentence and then puts her on hold. The hold music blares on for an impossibly long time- seven minutes according to the call timer on her phone. 

“Good morning, Miss Lewis. This is Pepper Potts.” Holy what the wow?? In her silence, Ms. Potts continues. “I’m so glad you called. I assume this is concerning the paperwork we forwarded to Jane Foster?”

“Y-yes.” Darcy manages to stutter out. She tries to remember all the very professional words she had wanted to say before Pepper-freaking-Potts picked up the line. Instead, she goes with, “How did I rank a call with Pepper Potts? I mean seriously.”

Pepper laughs- and of course, it sounds dainty and professional and not at all like the belly deep guffaws that Darcy indulges in when truly amused. “Anything Avengers adjacent makes the HR department a tad uncomfortable. They mark anyone related to an Avenger as being Potts Only and route all calls to my office. To be honest, I’ve been expecting a call from one of you.”

“Right. Apologies for the delay, Ms. Potts.” 

“Please, call me Pepper.” She is on a first name basis with Pepper Potts? Score. Now if she could also score her wardrobe and footwear. 

“Pepper, about my position with Jane....” Darcy trails off, suddenly not sure how to broach the topics she wants to address. 

“I understand that you’ve had an unfortunate incident with one of the Avengers.” Pepper seems to pause and take in what she’s just said. “That’s the most politically correct way I can say that I’m aware of the ordeal you went through and I want to assure you that at the Tower we are prepared to make allowances so that you will not come into contact with any person you may not wish to be around. We are quite enthusiastic about Dr. Foster joining our team and we realize you are a package deal.”

“Oh,” Darcy breathes out. “I was calling to see if we could work out some sort of program that would allow me to work offsite.”

“That could be arranged up to a certain number of hours a month, but we would need you in-house a few days a week.” Pepper offers.

“How many hours are we talking?” And with that, they are discussing the gritty details of getting Darcy to and from the Tower without potentially running into Clint and/or Natasha. Darcy learns of JARVIS and of the security measures already in place at the Tower. Pepper offers the use of a driver provided both Jane and Darcy carpool; that is to say, Jane cannot ride it alone on days Darcy chooses to work from home. 

Pepper offers to give them a personalized tour of the lab floor, this time with an eye to explaining security and demonstrating that Darcy can remain untouched and still work for Tony Stark. Darcy agrees to the tour, agrees to have Jane bring the paperwork, agrees to give this all a try. She hopes this will convince Jane to sign; even if Darcy has to find a new position without Jane, this move is what’s best for Jane’s career and Darcy will not allow yet another ripple from her attack to effect Jane. 

Darcy texts Jane and advises her to put in her notice. When Jane protests, Darcy shuts it down. She assumes Jane will listen and begins perusing the contract yet again. Intellectual property, all theorems, and discoveries will remain that of Dr. Foster but Stark Industries reserves the right to publish white papers and acknowledge a working relationship with the scientist, including suggesting (by this they mean demanding) certain public appearances. It reads remarkably similar to the current contract Jane is under. 

~

Jane puts in her notice- only two weeks, which she frets over because “it’s the done thing to wrap up any projects before leaving and I’m leaving them mid-project and taking my findings with me and who will take care of the equipment when we are gone and those entomologists are going to move in on our space, Darcy.”

“It’s not our space anymore, Janey. You’re moving up in the world. They’ve even been cleared to rebrand your presentation in Toronto. Hell, they’re even hosting a happy hour cocktail social for the attendees as a sign of Stark Industries goodwill to the scientific community. It’s freakin’ awesome.”

“I’m not signing until we have that security tour.” Jane stands firm on this. “If I’ve made a mistake putting in my notice, I can accept the offer to go work with Selvig in London. We have options.”

“Well, bring the papers because our tour is tomorrow after work. Pepper will meet us in the lobby.” Darcy considers the conversation done and continues plating up the pasta she made while Jane was at work. 

“You have been cooking a lot. Like, I’m used to the baking, but the making dinner is new.” Jane sits on the couch with her plate and watches Darcy as she sits next to her.

Darcy shrugs and drags a fork around the plate. “If I’m cooking, I’m not thinking about crying or calling Clint or never seeing Clint again or having Thor kill Clint. I’m just....trying not to burn things. It helps.”

“Well, tomorrow we should go out to dinner after the tour and we can compare notes.” Jane offers.

There’s something nagging at Darcy about their conversation; something Jane had mentioned. It’s not until they’ve both retreated to their rooms that Darcy pulls the thought free. She barges into Jane’s room, finds her friend already in bed. She sits up and throws back the blankets, ready for whatever it is that has Darcy bounding in.

“Has anybody checked on Erik?” Jane’s face goes blank and she searches for the reasoning behind Darcy’s words. “He was touched by Loki as well, could he not also have some segment of Loki left behind in him?”

“Oh,” Jane breathes and pulls out her phone to call Thor. It’s been a trying learning curve to teach the oversized man how to use the tiny piece of technology, but he’s mostly gotten the hang of it. 

Thor volunteers to visit the man and assess his condition. Now that he knows what he is looking for, it should be a simple matter of shaking the man’s hand. Hopefully, he will be able to report an all-clear once he knows. 

She retreats to her mattress feeling more in control of the world.

~

Darcy stays at the apartment for the morning, but Jane comes home at lunch and has a car drive them back to the lab together. While Darcy begins the process of submitting all the necessary severance paperwork, Jane begins prepping her work to be packed up and transported. They leave promptly at 5 and take yet another car to meet Pepper. It must be costing Jane a fortune but it keeps them from any chance of running into Clint or Natasha on the street, which Darcy appreciates. 

Pepper Potts meets them in the lobby and immediately begins pointing out the security features. There are biometric readers for every elevator bank and certain people are only programmed access to certain floors. The backup for this feature is an AI system that has the run of the building. It introduces itself as JARVIS when Pepper steps inside the elevator with Jane and Darcy in her wake.

“Jarvis? Nice to meet you.” Darcy says, looking at the roof of the elevator car. 

“I’m pleased to meet you as well, Miss Lewis, Dr. Foster.” The voice doesn’t come from above them, rather from all around. It’s an odd sensation to know they’re being observed.

The labs are just as awesome as they had been when Jane was being shown them, but now the focus is on biometric access, safe rooms with no windows, and JARVIS as an early warning system.

“Miss Lewis, I will alert you at any point when Mister Barton or Miss Romanov are approaching the area you are in that you may avoid any undue stress.”

“Thanks, J. Can you call me Darcy? The whole Miss Lewis thing is weird.” Darcy gives a thumbs up to the room at large when the AI confirms he will address her as Darcy from now on.

Jane signs on the dotted line before they’ve left the Tower. They go to a tapas place nearby to celebrate and discuss the setup. Darcy manages to go the entire dinner without thinking about Clint. It’s almost a record. Then Thor texts the all clear for Selvig and by necessity, her thoughts return to Loki and Clint and... She almost wishes she were the type to turn to the oblivion of pills or alcohol. Or that she could simply get over it all. 

~

Cleaning up their work in the lab is labor intensive even with Darcy having been vigilant about Jane’s accumulation of notes-on-anything-vaguely-paperlike. A few pieces of equipment are the property of Jane’s famous tinkering and must be disassembled, packed together and then reassembled in their new space. Darcy schedules a team from Stark Industries to pick up their items three days before Jane’s last day with their current lab. 

The scientists choose to shut down the office early and head to a bar for a farewell party on Jane’s last day. Darcy refrains from drinking and tries not to feel anxious being surrounded by a bunch of drunk people. She winds up at a corner table, her back against the wall, nursing a cola and watching Jane participate in some sort of Science bonding ritual involving telling stories of the worst disease ever contracted while out in the field. 

Her phone buzzes, vibrates the table in front of her and definitely does not make her yelp in fear. Her tension must be dialed up to an 11 if just her phone going off gives her a near heart attack.

_ can we talk _

_ please _

It’s Clint. Everything freezes because it’s Clint and he’s reaching out and she’s not ready. Her immediate reaction is to search out Jane, but Jane can’t be her crutch forever. She’s enjoying her party with her colleagues and Darcy can send a simple text. It’s not hard.

Except that five minutes later she’s still staring at the digital keys, trying to figure out words to type.

_ tash said you aren’t ready _

_ but i just need to apologize _

_ darcy _

_ please _

She has to put the phone face down and close her eyes, focus on her breathing.  _ Tash is right, Clint, I’m not ready _ . Her therapist has been guiding her through methods to calm her thoughts, focusing on breathing and the things she can control. It takes her 5 long minutes of breathing to get centered.

Maybe, just maybe, she can handle a phone call. Just hear his voice again. He’d be on the phone and not right next to her so the immediate danger would be lessened. 

_ Okay _ . 

The phone rings in her hand and she nearly drops it.

Here goes nothin’.

“Hello?” it’s more question than greeting but it gets the job done.

“Darcy,” he breathes her name out as a sigh of relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Of course, you're not okay. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

It’s a stream of words flying at her and it’s Clint but it’s also her attacker and her breath catches painfully in her throat. He’s still talking, begging her to tell him if she needs anything; if he can do anything for her, anything at all.

“Clint.” Her mouth is dry and his name is more croak than word. He doesn’t hear her, is still caught up in his own desperation. “Clint!”

He goes silent. She swallows hard. “I- I can’t. It’s too much.” Then she hangs up and runs to the ladies room to be sick. One of the gals from the lab must have been in the restroom because minutes after she throws herself into a stall, Jane is in the restroom telling her a car is waiting and they can leave as soon as she feels well enough to move. 

~

Their first day at Stark Tower looms large and intimidating on Monday. Darcy wants nothing more than to crawl back under the blankets and call out. She manages to drag herself out of bed and get dressed but it takes Jane giving a strongly worded pep talk to get them both down and into the waiting car. 

JARVIS greets them when they enter the elevator and informs them their boxes are awaiting them. Their first two days are solitary affairs, unpacking and setting up their area to Jane’s specifications. They learn the intricacies of having food delivered to a locked down building and leave in the evening having not talked to anyone other than themselves. 

On the third day, Tony Stark comes by their area in the afternoon. He swings in all energy and goodwill and a bit braggadocio. He invites them to lunch on Friday up in the penthouse area, courtesy of some fancy chef who has been in the news recently. JARVIS will remind them and allow them access when it’s time. Oh, and also, welcome to the team, etc.

It takes them a full hour to recover from his visit- and to undo all the things he fidgeted with and moved out of place. Darcy was proud as hell that she had made it through three days in the Tower without having a panic attack. They were discussing making a celebratory pie for dinner because grown ass adults could have pie for dinner when JARVIS brought the elevator to a halt on the 9th floor.

“Apologies ladies, you will need to exit this elevator and head to the elevator bank across the hall. Clint and Natasha are waiting in the lobby.” He announces smoothly, opening the doors and illuminating some sort of magic track along the floor to the elevator caddy corner from them.

“But wait, won’t they still be in the lobby when we get there?” Jane asks stopping Darcy from moving. “Should we not just take the stairs or hang out on this floor until they leave?”

“They are heading to their apartments and will need to use this elevator bank for access. The ones across the way do not go up to their floor. I will ensure they are on their way up by the time the doors of your elevator open in the lobby.”

“Thanks, J.” Darcy says as they hurry across to the waiting elevator. The transition went smooth. Apparently, Clint and Natasha were already in the elevator when their elevator car reached the lobby as JARVIS allowed the doors to open immediately. They walked cautiously out to the waiting car out front and Darcy breathed out a sigh of relief.

When they were in the car traveling back towards Jane’s apartment, she turned to Darcy. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know you’re stubborn enough to make this all work even if it eats you up inside but are you sure you want to?”

“It’ll be fine,” Darcy says and pulls Jane in for a half hug. What she doesn’t say is no, she isn’t at all sure that she can make it through weeks, months, years of avoiding Clint and Natasha. She can’t let herself think much past the next day or the fears overwhelm her. Darcy can manage for at least the next little bit. 

It will be fine. Hopefully. At therapy that night, she focuses on talking about her new job and avoids mentioning her close call with Clint. By this point, she knows the woman is sick of her prevaricating. As far as the therapist is concerned, she’s displacing blame onto a figment of her imagination. That’s what she gets for being truthful (and it may still come back to bite her in the ass if the therapist ever decides to believe her.) It wears her down more than it helps and after five weeks of being stagnant, she feels like it’s time to drop the therapy. Though that feels a bit too much like giving up on ever getting back to normal for her sanity. 

~

They dress up on Friday. Lunch with Tony Stark is something new and exciting and he is paying Jane a premium for the privilege of having her work in his organization. Darcy wears a dress- one she hasn’t worn in years, one that doesn’t remind her of three bodies pressed together in her tiny bed. It’s an exercise in futility, wearing a dress in the lab. She brings bike shorts and sure enough, by 10am, she’s got the skirt tucked into the bike shorts and is crawling under the counter to connect this dinglehopper with that thingamadoogy. 

At half past noon, JARVIS informs them it is time for their lunch appointment. Jane advises Darcy to go wash her face and Darcy repeats the advice right back to her. Apparently, there had been dust or grease or ink on the packaged equipment, because both ladies sport smudges.

“We are so attractive.” Darcy laughs at their reflections as they wet paper towels and try to swipe at the guck. 

“I think we make grime look good.” Jane preens a bit before collapsing against the sink in giggles.

“Oh, yeah. We are awesome and Tony Stark will be so glad he invited us up to fancy meal time.” Darcy says with snorted giggles. They manage to attain some semblance of style and then JARVIS insists they follow his lighted path to the elevator that will take them up.

Freaking Captain America joins them on the elevator a few floors from the top. JARVIS does the introductions whilst Darcy and Jane stare.

“Captain Rogers, please meet Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis.”

“Steve, please.” The symbol of American patriotism says as he shakes Jane’s hand.

“Holy mother, you’re Captain America.” Darcy gushes as she reaches to shake his hand after Jane. “I had like three whole classes just dedicated to your service in the War. Whoa, I think I’m in shock.”

“Uh, thanks?” He’s blushing a bit and it makes Darcy want to hug him- but that would probably make the blushing worse.

“Sorry for fangirling; I’ll be good now, I promise.” Darcy holds up two fingers. “Scouts’ Honor.”

“I hear they’re accepting girls now, the Scouts.” Steve comments. “They’ll all get to earn Eagle Scout.”

“Technically, they’re still the Boy Scouts. The name of the organization hasn’t changed to Scouts, just the one program. I fully support the inclusion. but it does leave the Girl Scouts in a bit of a funding crisis.” Darcy takes up the string and they’re still discussing badges and camping around Jane when the elevator dings at the penthouse floor. There’s a brief suggestion of Steve Rogers being a celebrity sponsor of Boy Scouts before Tony Stark rounds the corner.

“Welcome, welcome! Steve, stop monopolizing the ladies.” He chides with a grin and Darcy nearly chokes on her laugh. 

“Where are we set up today, Tony?” Steve asks with a practiced Sigh of Disapproval. Darcy wants a bag of popcorn and to follow them around all day. It must be hilarious, like some sort of sitcom throwing two mismatched people together. 

Tony gestures widely. “The formal dining room. I wanted to impress our newest additions and with both you and Thor in attendance, we need the room for the spread of food that’s required.” Darcy laughs out loud at that and Tony points at her. “You, Lewis. I like you. Come with me.” He gestures as he turns and heads for what must be the formal dining room, though it is big enough to be a good sized ballroom. Thor is waiting at the door to the dining area and Jane practically jumps him.

Darcy has a decent sized dose of guilt churning in her gut. Thor has been avoiding the apartment now that Darcy is there 24/7. Maybe she should extend an offer to spend the night in her own place, give them some room. Hell, she’s still paying rent and her lease isn’t up for another three months. Might as well go make sure it’s still standing. 

There in the corner by a carafe of- coffee? Tea?- something hot, is Dr. Bruce Fucking Banner. Is this meet your heroes week? God, the man had been a bit of a myth mixed with an urban legend mixed with a drinking game at Culver. 

“Tony, there’s only one jasmine tea bag left. Will Natasha be joining us?” Dr. Banner asks of Tony as they approach that side of the room. There’s a huge (probably mahogany, and she kinda wants to stab it if it is) wooden table that takes up the center of the room with grandiose chairs set with fancy chargers and place settings. Then to the side a series of buffet set ups. Dr. Banner is set up by the drinks and has a mug of hot water awaiting a tea bag, the aforementioned jasmine tea Darcy supposes.

All of this is easier to observe than acknowledge the awkward and pointed looks that are being passed from Tony, Steve, and Thor to Dr. Banner who looks utterly confused. “Bruce, meet Dr. Foster and Darcy Lewis, our newest science team.”

“Oh,” Dr. Banner’s eyebrows raise into his hairline. “Oh. Nice to meet you?” He blinks once or twice and then turns back to the table to grab the jasmine tea bag, because of course, Natasha wouldn’t be there today. 

The whole team knows. The realization washes over Darcy with a flood of embarrassment. Tony is at her elbow, hovering but not touching as she turns away from the buffet set up, away from where Thor, Jane, and Steve are now clustering around Banner and whispering furiously.

“Your seat is over here, with the best and safest view of the knives demonstration.” Tony leads the way around the table and away from the others. “It was....kind of a necessity that everyone know what went down. Natasha brought him in and he was feral, promising death and destruction to us all. It was very much Clint’s body, but Reindeer Games came out of his mouth. We don’t have any love of Loki here.”

Darcy shifts to look at Tony. “Why are you telling me this?” She wants to find anger or...something other than this bone-deep exhaustion over the whole situation.

“He attacked me that night. Got in a few good hits and I’ve got the bruises to prove it.” He worries absentmindedly at his left arm. “He scared the shit out of me and I’m not in an intimate relationship with the man. I just... I have no pony in this race, Darce. I just wanted to confirm that Loki had complete control of him and now that Thor’s family worked their voodoo they do, he’s a broken shell of who he was. He just beats himself up in the training room and then retreats to his room without talking to anyone save Natasha.”

She stiffens and backs away. “So because he’s better now, I should magically be better as well?”

“Nope, not the line I was going for.” Tony digs briefly in his breast pocket and palms a card. “I have no idea what you went through and I have no clue if you’ll ever get back to the place where you can see his ugly mug. But I have a friend who can help; one that will believe you and listen to you when you tell him what happened. Might help. Or it might not. In the meantime, gin and tonics for everyone!” He says the last bit louder for the other guests, effusively pointing out the trays entering the room. He leaves the card next to the place setting that has her name written in loopy cursive.

Pepper Potts follows the trays in and they are all seated together. She eats and she thinks she participates in the conversations. Mostly she just waits for it to be over so that she can safely escape. When the final plates are cleared, Thor comes over to wrap her in a hug.

“I have seen little of you as late, Lady Darcy.” He booms as she’s crushed to his (very nice) chest. She pats at him gently and avoids the thought of crying at the comfort. 

“You should take Jane to dinner, Thor. She misses you fierce and I’ve been in the way.” She sniffs delicately and wipes at her eyes before pulling away.

“Never in the way, Darcy.” His voice is low and his eyes are serious, warm and really that’s just what she needs.

Too Many Feelings.

“Thanks. I’m gonna.....yeah.” She strides quickly from the room and follows the path they came in to reach the elevators.

JARVIS helpfully opens the doors and directs the car down to their floor. Darcy had been having a good day. When the doors open, Darcy comes out and immediately darts to her left and through a door into what looks like a conference room, complete with a projector screen. She lowers herself into a cushy chair and covers her face with her hands. The day had been going so well. It had been five whole hours since she had felt scared or tired or sad or anything other than a focus on getting the lab up and running to Jane’s specifications. 

She settles in for a quick pity party, which is only interrupted once by JARVIS asking permission to inform Miss Potts and Dr. Foster that she is safe but indisposed at the moment so that they will not worry. By the time she’s cried the last of her tears out, she’s made a few decisions.

Step one: Move back into her own space. Jane has been her crutch for far too long and if Tony was representing the truth, Clint hasn’t much left the building.

Step two: Talk to someone who will believe her and not think she’s displacing blame out of some misguided fantasy of love. Maybe actually work through her issues.

Maybe even....Step three: Talk to Clint. It had to happen. 

JARVIS interrupted her musing again. “Darcy, Natasha would like entrance and permission to talk with you. She has agreed to leave if you are not ready.” 

No more running. “Let her in, J.”

~

The door opens and a flood of awkward fills the space between them. Natasha looks...tired. 

“Hey,” Darcy greets with a small smile, a small wave, feeling small in the face of Natasha’s tentative steps inside the conference room.

“Hello,” Natasha scans the room before she stops at the table. “May I enter?”

“Yeah- yes, of course.” Darcy pushes back from the table and runs a hand through her hair. 

She takes a step towards Natasha, and Natasha echoes her movement. There are still chairs between them but they’re closer than they’ve been in a month.

“How are you?” Natasha asks as Darcy breathes, “I’m sorry.”

There’s an awkward pause then Darcy continues. “Not great. Hiding from the world as is my usual coping method.”

“Why are you sorry?” Natasha seems genuinely curious.

“I’ve been avoiding you.” Darcy shrugs. “You’re just... You’re so wrapped up in Clint in my mind and my heart and I’ve pushed you away because of it.”

“I left you alone when you were scared. I’m not blameless in this.” Natasha states it as fact, as though she’s already accepted that she is more to blame than Darcy assigns her. 

“You aren’t to blame. Apparently, even Clint can’t be blamed. But I can’t see either of you without... It hurts. I miss you.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I have dreams of us before, of what we could have but then it ends in a dark alley. It ends with me waking up sobbing or screaming.”

“I’m so sorry,  _ kotyonok _ . I wouldn’t wish that for you,” Natasha steps forward again, and it’s like a dance. Darcy steps forward as well. “We will give you as much time as you need but we... both of us miss you fiercely. I will do whatever is necessary for you so that we can keep you.”

“I need time.” It’s a whisper and maybe a promise. “I don’t know how to make my brain believe what my heart feels. I feel it so deeply that Clint would never have hurt me, could never have done what he did. But my brain....my brain sees the facts laid bare. He was the one who attacked me in that alley. He was the one that shattered the sense of security I had surrounding him.....and you. It was his face, his voice, his hands. I don’t know how to reconcile these two conflicting versions, to find a truth I’m comfortable believing.”

“I understand.” Natasha shifts and gives away her discomfort with the whole conversation. “I wish there were a way I could convince you, could fix your soul....erase what happened from your memory and give you more than more than enough pleasant memories to replace the darkness. But I can’t.” Darcy wishes for nothing more than that; to forget the darkness completely. Natasha sighs. “We will give you time. We will be available whenever you should need us, Darcy. Either or both of us, whichever you need.” 

Darcy wants nothing more than to touch her, to reach out and find comfort with her, give comfort even if it’s hers to give. Fuck it. “Would it be horrible of me to ask for a hug before I run away again?”

Natasha opens her arms and Darcy steps into them and damn if it isn’t like coming home. She closes her eyes and breathes in the comfort. Freezes the moment in her mind to revisit later when the darkness may overwhelm her again. Here’s the comfort, here’s the love.

Finally, Natasha pulls away, trailing her hands down Darcy’s arms to grab her hands. She notes the bracelet is gone from Darcy’s wrist, swipes a thumb across the blank space with a frown. “Whatever you need, please let us know. I will give you space until you say otherwise.” Tasha presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, where the bracelet used to sit, then backs up, turns, and leaves the room without a backward glance. 

~

Darcy heads back to the lab to see that Thor is still spending time with Jane. They look up as she enters but don’t question her whereabouts. Their clothes are rumpled, hair mussed. She wonders if they’ve discovered a supply closet somewhere on the floor to make out in.

“I talked to Tasha,” Darcy comments as she sits down at her temporary workstation and puts her headphones on. She wears a shit-eating grin because sometimes dropping a bombshell of information and then shutting down Jane’s opportunity to question it is so very lovely. The headphones block out any noise Jane may make in response. A notebook grazes her shoulder and when she turns to return fire, Jane is grinning, though she tries to look mad. She mouths ‘I’m glad.’ before returning to the readouts on the table. 

She has dinner with Jane and Thor that night but goes back to her own apartment to sleep.

Not that she sleeps.

It’s too big and too empty and too much but she stays there the whole night and considers it a success when she makes her own coffee in the morning. It’s too bitter, too strong. Doctoring it with sugar just makes it a cloying brew that sticks to her teeth. She’s forgotten how to treat her own machine, or maybe her nerves are rejecting the idea of coffee because they’re already too high strung.

Darcy goes to her spice cabinet to rummage for a soothing tea in place of the coffee. She stares up at the clean lines of organized spices, the teas alphabetized and stacked neatly. Natasha’s handiwork; proof of better times staring her in the face. There’s a sob in her throat but she refuses to give into the hopeless sorrow and fear that she’s been living with for the past few weeks.

Water will be healthier in any case. Darcy shuts the cabinet and turns away from the memories. 

She washes her bed sheets and all the blankets in her apartment. Everything smells a little musty and unused. She cleans the bathroom and the kitchen and vacuums. By midday, everything smells like home again. She even cautiously goes to the corner store for milk and eggs and bread. She makes breakfast for dinner and watches home improvement shows until the sun sets again. 

~

She e-mails the man Tony told her about and sets an appointment for Monday night. He’s neither a doctor nor a therapist according to the card, but if Tony thinks he can help she’s willing to try. As long as he isn’t a hypnotherapist.

Darcy works from her apartment on Monday. She spends an hour or two on the phone with the Tower’s IT Support because her credentials were never approved for offsite work. She’s nearly decided to pack everything in and go to the office to physically stand face to face with someone until her login is approved, but she gets the notification that she can now log on successfully.

She spends the afternoon half-heartedly packing for Toronto and keeping an eye on her messages. She spends the late afternoon stressing over meeting this stranger in a public place and having to bare her soul. 

They meet at a diner. He’s everything Tony is not; understated, calm, and fond of small touches. Nothing inappropriate or anything that makes her uncomfortable but he hands her things, touches her hands as she talks. It makes her wonder how they got connected. Did the man find Tony or did Tony find the man?

He talks at first, eases her into sharing bits of her own story. Finally, it comes pouring out over dessert, the guilt and the pain and the shouldn’t she be over it all by now? He listens, asks her questions and listens as she stumbles her way through the answers. 

At the end of it all, they’ve agreed on a few things she needs to do. She’ll need to focus on coping and not hiding. She will need to speak with Clint; not because he is a demon that needs to be defeated but because he is her lover who was taken over against his will and made to do horrible things twice now. He deserves forgiveness and she deserves to forgive him. They both agree that forgiveness need not ever be equated with letting him back in her life. 

The pressure of having to hate him and love him and fear him all at once is cutting Darcy in two; forgiving the man who couldn’t change the outcome will relieve at least one of the pressures from Darcy. She’s glad someone finally agrees that Clint may not have meant for anything to happen but she still has a right to keep him at a distance. Until she can look him in the eyes and not find fear curling in her belly. 

Darcy feels lighter in her skin when she leaves the diner and though it’s probably the height of unprofessional, she logs on to her Stark Mail account to shoot Tony a quick and simple “Thank you.”

She sleeps and only wakes up once, trembling and breathing hard into the dark of her room.

~

Tuesday dawns bright and annoying. She can’t get her hair to lay right; she can’t find anything to wear; she doesn’t want to face the day at all. Darcy tries to capture the positive energy from the dinner the night before but just winds up grumping around until it’s time to leave for Jane’s apartment. 

Jane has the driver stop for donuts when she catches the sharp side of Darcy’s grumpiness. She runs in alone and comes out with a sack of pastries. She shoves a bear claw at Darcy with a “Sugar should help that attitude.”

Darcy definitely doesn’t growl as she bites into the bear claw. Because that would be too much- but she definitely thinks about it.

~

There’s an employee cafeteria and though the food is not as nice as it is in the penthouse, it is edible. It’s also a little like being alone on an island while being surrounded by people. She leaves Jane who promises to eat lunch when Thor arrives and heads for the cafeteria with a book. There’s pizza that doesn’t taste like cardboard and a salad that looks fresh and appetizing. She plonks down at the end of a table, gleefully finds the seats are comfortable and prepares to eat and read and ignore everything except the book in her hand. 

People funnel in and around her but no one ever sits next to her or across from her. No one interrupts her solitude. She loses herself in the story and finds it easier to live someone else’s life. 

It’s been an hour and a half and she only notices because the sounds around her start dying off. There are far fewer people in the room than there had been. She’s officially taken far too long a lunch. Darcy throws her trash out and hurries out to the lobby where a large group of schoolchildren appears to be waiting for every available elevator. It’s loud and jarring and reminds her of all the reasons she refused to be a teacher as her mother had hoped. She belatedly remembers an email blast reminding people that a tour group would be heading to the 7th floor and to avoid the elevators at a certain time.

She resists the urge to curse with so many little ears around as she heads for the stairs. It’ll be a hell of a hike to her floor, but maybe the exercise is what she needs to finally conquer her mood. 

The staircase is echoey and oddly empty. Apparently, everyone else in the building got the memo. They all must be out of the office, or they are firmly ensconced with the doors locked and barred. In any case, she’s alone for the first 7 flights. By the 9th flight, her calves ache and she wants to take her shoes off and have a sit. 

JARVIS suddenly booms a warning. “Clint Barton, stay where you are. Darcy, please exit the stairwell using the door on your right.” She hears an intake of breath three floors up and freezes, fighting the urge to flee.

“J, wait.” She says. Her words echo around her and she knows Clint can hear her. “Is there a room available on this floor? Somewhere we could talk?”

“Yes. There are three available offices for your use. Shall I unlock one?” 

Darcy nods, then realizes that while JARVIS can see her, Clint cannot. “Yes, please.” She tilts her head up, feels silly but does it anyway as she aims her voice to wherever Clint is above her. “Clint, I’ll be waiting in whichever office J recommends. We need to talk but I won’t say I’m super comfortable with the idea of being closed in a room with you. Do you think you will be able to leave if I need you to- if I can’t manage?”

“Of course, Darcy.” Clint shifts restlessly, but he doesn’t make a move to come down the stairs.

“Even if we haven’t worked anything out?” She has to ask, has to know.

“Whatever you need, Darce. Do you want JARVIS to call Tasha, have her wait outside? Or Thor if it would be better to have a neutral party,” he offers.

Darcy hesitates before answering, "Do you think it will be necessary?"

“No,” Clint’s voice is clear and firm. “But if it eases your mind, makes you more comfortable, that’s what needs to happen.”

“I think we can make it without a chaperone, then. Give me a minute to find the office. I’ll, uh, leave the door open for you.” Darcy darts through the door before he can respond. She knows he has said he will respect her limits and she knows that J has eyes everywhere, but still she sends a text to Jane with a picture of the office she is entering. 

_ Talking to Clint _

_ Ran into him on the stairs _

_ It’s time _

_ Wish me luck? _

Her phone buzzes immediately in her hand but she slips it into her pocket, walks to the far wall and puts the empty desk between herself and the open door. 

Clint knocks on the jam of the door and stands at the threshold, rocking back on his feet. “Hey,” He greets her, his eyes drinking her in.

“Hi.” Darcy says. “Come in, maybe shut the door so we can have perceived privacy.”

“Are you sure?” Clint asks, his hand on the knob. She nods and he pulls the door closed behind him. He walks to the desk but stops with a large bubble of space between them. Darcy takes a deep breath. 

“Have you been talking to anyone? I know you’ve been with Jane, but have you...” He trails off, his hand worrying at his already mussed hair. 

“Yeah, I went to the therapist. Dumped her and got a new one.”

“Good, good.” He pauses, examines the ceiling, his feet, her feet, before finally meeting her eyes. “I’m so sorry Darce. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t get control of my own body and Loki used it to hurt you, to kill our love. I’ll never forgive myself for not stopping him.”

“Not something you could do.” Hope covers his face and she bites her lip. “Look, everyone has agreed it was Loki and you weren’t responsible for anything that happened. And of course, you’re forgiven for things beyond your control. He attacked you too, in a far more intimate way.”

Clint takes a step forward, wanting to wrap her in his arms, his hope for that physical connection written all over his movements. She’s good at pretending; has always been the one of her friends with the most imagination. If she tilts her head and squints, she can pretend none of this happened. Faced with Clint right in front of her, a part of her wants nothing more than to run over and jump into his arms. To kiss him silly and confess how much she has missed him, missed his touch, missed his body heat in her bed. 

“Wait, there’s more I need to say.” She stops him with her words and his face falls. It’s painful to see but she can’t let it distract her. “I used to dream of the desert on fire; of dying at the hands of the Destroyer.” Darcy closes her eyes against the flood of images flashing across her mind. “Now it’s your face that’s chasing me through my nightmares. It’s your face that attacks me, that leaves me panicking when I wake up.”

“Darce-” Clint’s voice breaks on her name and she opens her eyes to see his pained face, tears welling up in his eyes. The Darcy from Before would have run to Clint, longing to comfort him and convince him he was worthy of love, worthy of all things good. The Darcy of Now steels herself against those feelings and holds out a hand as if to physically hold his emotions at bay. 

“Loki is a son of a bitch.” Darcy laughs but it’s devoid of any humor. “Neither one of us deserve this and yet here we are. I can’t....I love you, still, in spite of everything and yet I can’t even look at you.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s a pained whisper and it cuts through her.

“It’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault and I wish this didn’t feel like I was punishing you, but...” Her voice breaks on emotions she’s been swallowing down. 

“I’m not safe for you anymore. Being with me would be too much, too painful.” He finishes for her and she nods, hand pressed over her mouth to keep back the tears, the sobs, the screams she wants to let loose on the unfair world. 

He makes a move as if to step towards her, but she flinches back from him. “Whatever you need, Darce. I love you. I’ll do whatever you need in the hopes I’ll see you again.”

“I need time.” She feels like she’s been repeating those words for years, but it’s what she needs. He stands there watching her and finally lets out a sigh and a short nod.

The waves of pain rise inside her; she needs him to leave so that she can have her breakdown; so she can build herself back up; so that she can run away to Toronto with Jane and pretend none of this had happened. She needs to be alone, needs him to walk away.

 

“I love you, Clint. Now, please, go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I hate sad endings. Angst makes me uncomfortable.
> 
> This is all catemonsterq's fault. Seriously.
> 
> There's a third and final installment planned in this the story of their threesome. It will build them back up to where they can exist comfortably together.
> 
> I'm not sure how long it will take me to write it. This one was painful, like pulling teeth at times and as happy as I am that it's done, I'm not exactly jumping up and down to get at it again.
> 
> Let's all go cleanse our pallet with cat video's shall we?
> 
> Much love,  
> CraftingKatie


End file.
